Shiver
by The Great Wicked
Summary: Staring into the cold, steely eyes of death, and feeling its sickeningly warm breath on her face, it was hard not to be afraid. Somehow Chenoa managed to keep her composure and remain stoic and still although inside she was screaming. It had been a Hellish two days and it was certain that she hadn't seen the worst of it yet. Connor K/OFC
1. The Cold

Shiver

The Great Wicked

Staring into the cold, steely eyes of death, and feeling its sickeningly warm breath on her face, it was hard not to be afraid. Somehow, Chenoa managed to keep her composure and remain unfazed and unmoving, although, inside she was screaming. It had been two days now, marched across the unforgiving snowy fields, hers wrists burned from the ropes that were tied so tightly that they cut into her flesh, her entire body ached from the beatings, boots digging their way into her sides, and pain in the jaw from being backhanded. Yet, somehow she was still unbroken, and not speaking a word.

The Redcoats liked that though, they liked a spirited woman, one who could be _broken._ Worn down, defeated, taken. It had been a Hellish two days. Her shoulders hurt now from her arms being tied around her back, wrapped around the wooden beam, splinters dug at her skin and she longed to stretch her arms and legs. She wondered how much longer this would last, how long it would be before they grew tired of her silence and resistance, how long until hurting her no longer gave them pleasure. She would no doubt be executed, as a lesson. A warning. To colonials and natives alike: if you aid the Revolution you will loose your life.

The Redcoats most certainly could not believe their luck when they not only came across a woman walking through the snow but a native woman. A woman who knew the plains, hills, rivers and mountains, and her being a colonial woman was the icing on the cake. Running could only take her so far and eventually her tiredness was what led to her capture. They looked upon her with darkness in their eyes and twisted grins as though a prelude to the anguish that was to come. Pure hatred radiated from them. It was hard to say what the Redcoats hated more, these _Americans_ causing trouble or the natives that both aided them and were not a part of them, and Chenoa was both.

Sitting alone in the dank basement where the only light came from a small window near the base of the building, which was either an tavern or a general store, Chenoa fought the darkness that she felt trying to drown her. She was cold, tired and in pain but you wouldn't know that by looking at her. She sat up her back straight as a plank sitting on her knees looking occasionally from the window to the stone walls.

She was so tired, ached to close her eyes and sleep even if it was just for a few moments, but she knew that even if she did get a few minutes that that was all she would get. One of the games the Redcoats liked to play was to wait for her to fall asleep then throw a bucket of ice cold water onto her to wake her. It was all about wearing her down, eventually she would give them what they wanted, she had to. Or so they thought, Chenoa's conviction was strong and it seemed to sustain her, but for how long she could not say.

With each passing minute she found her head dropping lower and lower and her body leaning forward as much as the beam and her restrains would permit. Heavier and heavier her eyes felt, how could another human being inflict this much misery on another, she didn't know. As a child Chenoa never understood the idea of being vengeful, or full of hate, yet here she found herself thinking of all the horrid things she would do if given the chance to repay their 'hospitality'. Yet thoughts such as those, she knew to be a trap of sorts, to become like them, without mercy and compassion, she could not allow herself this train of thought. She briefly thought of home. Her home. She longed to be anywhere but where she was, thinking of the warm fire and the soft pallets she slept on, the warm conversation and happy chatter. Just a few minutes, only a few...

OOO

His coat did enough to camouflage him as he looked on the fort from over a hill, slowly, stealthily skirting the edges, careful to stay out of sight. He was not particularly looking forward to breaking in, Connor did not like to shed blood if he didn't have to, needless death. He hated it. Looking at the settlements fortifications he briefly thought of the conversation that lead him here.

OOO

_"She's not here, something is wrong!"_

_"Calm down old man, who's not here?" It had been passing conversation that had caught his ear, from a group of men standing outside, waiting on orders or something of the like standing around a fire._

_"Chenoa." He almost felt his ear prick up like a dogs, Chenoa, the woman Washington had spoken of._

_"She walks here everyday old man, maybe she just slept in."_

_"Wish we could sleep in a bit eh boys?" The group chuckled, thinking about the last time they got to take a break, their laughter somewhat fake, but it was all they could do to see a light within the darkness._

_"No, she's always here at sunrise, its mid-day and she wasn't here yesterday either!" The elderly man seemed very concerned indeed and growing more and more frustrated by the minute that no one else was taking him seriously. _

_"Who's Chenoa?" One of the younger men asked warming his hands._

_"Some native woman who gives medical aid, she's here almost everyday."_

_"Always as the sun rises, I'm telling you men something is wrong."_

_"Well," Paused the younger man "I did hear a rumor, that the Redcoats had recently taken some native captive. Don't know where or when but I heard about it yesterday on the way here." A cloud of doubt grew over the men and they began murmuring to themselves_

_"A native woman?"_

_"Thats what I've heard,"_

_"And you say the Redcoats may 'ave her?" A nod, the man let out a deep sigh "Well it was nice knowing her then," All eyes had fallen upon this man as he spoke "Them Redcoats hate natives almost as much as they hate us, a woman, doubly so. Poor girl, I don't see her lasting' very long, for 'er sake."_

_Connor had heard enough as he quickly swooped in on the conversation. "What do you know of her?" His voice strong and authoritative, not a man to be crossed._

_"Chenoa?" The men were caught off guard by Connors presence, they hadn't noticed him or even heard him coming until suddenly he was there. "She's a native woman who lives around here." Connor waited for more information "She's from a Powhatan tribe up North, just showed up one day and fixed up and entire battalion of wounded men, mended them back right fast, she did."_

_"She's always here, every morning at sunrise. Leave as the sun sets, shows right back up again the next day. Never fails,"_

_"Maybe something really is wrong, hope its just a rumor and them bloody Redcoats don't 'ave her. Lord knows what they'll do to her,"_

_"Where does she go when she leaves here?" Connor asked._

_"Well, we don't really know, she don't talk about 'erself much, heads West."_

OOO

He now looked upon the fort having rationalized that this was the most likely place for her to be, not many other British Forts for at least fifty miles. He had felt a pain of duty to this woman who he didn't even know, feeling a deep commitment to his people, he had decided to seek her out and bring her back safely. He didn't like the idea of a woman being defenseless and heartless men seeking information from her, if it wasn't beatings it would be something far worse. He began to close in on the Fort and prepared himself, noting the gates and possible exits.

At some point he was bound to be seen, you had to make contact and rescue missions were not without their blood. Two guards dead at their posts, killed in silence, were still two dead guards. Pretty hard to ignore as soon as blood was in the air. Those who did see him had reported seeing only flashed of what looked like a ghost, he was so fast that they barely saw him. Nonetheless the alarm had been raised and Redcoats poured out of the buildings searching for the ghost like a clueless swarm of insects. All the same, they knew he was there and they were searching for him.

OOO

She could have sworn that her eyes only closed for a split second before the stinging of a slap met the side of her face, jerking her head back feeling a resounding crack in her neck and shoulders. Still in some shock over the force in which she was struck she didn't really know that was going on until her binds were cut and rough hands grabbed her arms harshly throwing her to the floor.

"Who's yer friend?" An angry voice spat thick with poison, Chenoa still dazed and somewhat unable to pick herself up due to the soreness of her arms, flailed around like a child trying to get her bearings. "Who's this sneaking around looking for you?" The voice demanded again, now grabbing a fistful of her hair obtaining a yelp from her. "Militia? Regulars? Who?!"

"I do not know what you are speaking of!" She replied having only spoken to these men a few times. A harsh kick to her ribs and she was down again.

"Lying heathen! Who's the bloke in white?!" This time Chenoa gave him no answer but instead spat in his face, angrily he grabbed her arms again before throwing her into the wall then everything went black.

OOO

Random Chenoa fact: She is ambidextrous.


	2. Fight or Flight

Shiver

The Great Wicked

He moved with unthinkable speed and did not take a life if he did not have to, skimming the tops of the snow covered buildings trying to avoid further detection, the tails of his white coat giving him the appearance of a phantom, he was simply a blur. Up on the rooftops he had a better view of his surroundings, he watched and noted the panic that had taken over the small fort, men running everywhere shouting orders, all looking for him. They could look al they pleased, but they would not find him unless he wanted them to.

The fort was not by any means a large one, there were only a dozen or so buildings, what he needed was direction. Where would he keep a captive if it were him? Someplace busy, rarely empty, but accessible as there was no real detention center, deep in his thoughts a sudden movement in the alley beneath his feet caught his sharp gaze. A man staggering outside fiddling with his pistol as though he were either very scared or very drunk. He descended from the rooftop and landed without a sound behind the man throwing a hard right hook knocking him to the ground. Then kicking his pistol away Connor drew his tomahawk holding it against the flesh of his neck, close enough to feel the blades sharpness.

A silent warning, that if he valued his life he would remain silent. One hand on his collar the other on his tomahawk his eyes bore a hole directly into the mans soul, the gaze of a killer. The gaze of an assassin who could easily snatch his life away. Connor did not need to growl or glare at the man to strike him full of terror, his face was blank as though it were carved of stone, not a shred of human emotion. You could always tell a man who meant business, he said nothing but communicated everything with his actions, as opposed to a lackey or a messenger, they liked to hear themselves talk. A killer, had no need for words. If he was going to kill you, he would kill you.

All of this was relayed through Connors piercing gaze, the hood certainly struck fear into the hearts of anyone who dared to gaze into it. Beneath it, were the eyes of an assassin. As Connor stared the man down hard he realized that this 'man' wasn't hardly even a man, looked to be a boy perhaps no older then Connor himself. It was never the old men who fought these wars, they often sent their sons to die for them while they liked to debate politics.

"Two days ago a native woman was taken and brought here," His voice was cold and detached, he wasted no effort on a fancy repertoire and spoke plainly. "Where is she being held?"

"The-the woman?" The boy managed to choke out obviously terrified nearly beyond words.

"Where is she?" His voice was different now, it was low, like a growl and it radiated danger, and whatever courage or resolve this boy had was quickly undone.

"The cellar! The cellar in the tavern, its a heavy door behind the bar-" Connor regarded him for a moment to assess his truthfulness "She's there, I swear!"

"Where is the tavern?"

"Against the barricade near the square, but its crawling with men," Connors eyes darted around as though he was formulating a plan "The-there's a back door, its hardly used by anyone but staff and officers. Please!- Please don't kill me!" Connor withdrew his tomahawk from the boys flesh, then grabbed his collar with both hands, lips snarling before he delivered his final warning.

"Forget my face." As quickly as the words left his mouth, Connor released the young man and brought up his pistol slamming it into the side of the young mans head, knocking him out cold. Then pulling his body out of sight he disappeared again heading in the direction of the tavern.

OOO

Her head now ached worse then ever before now and she was fairly certain that she had a cracked rib, slowly her vision began to return to her. Fuzzy at first then blurry only around the edges and most of the room was spinning. The sounds of rifles firing and men shouting orders were now audible to her, something had happened, but what? Chenoa knew full and well that there would be no rescue coming for her, she was only one woman, but for a moment she allowed herself to hope. If she could make an escape then she had to try, a stray bullet shattered the glass and embedded itself into the dirt floor elicited a started help from her and she scrabbled to her feet looking at the window.

Looking at the ground again she saw a shard of glass that was several inches long, jagged and sharp, it was better then nothing. The heavy cellar door was now ajar and there was no sign of the man who had cut her binds, part of her thought it to be a hallucination, or a trap but she didn't care. She knew for a fact, real or not she would never get a second chance.

OOO

I said that I wouldn't continue until I'd received at least five reviews, however I've had a surge of inspiration. Getting a better handle on Chenoa's character and maybe where this story is going, figured I'd write a little more. This time I'd like a few more reviews, preferably more then just two words, thanks everyone. Hope you enjoy it.


	3. Kill or Be Killed

Shiver

The Great Wicked

A big thanks to my reviewers!

Inside the tavern the chairs were overturned, tables knocked to the side, dishes and mugs on the floor, not a soul in sight. It was the closest to calm she'd seen in two days. The sound of gunfire drew her attention back to her problem at hand: Escape. Regardless how the Redcoats were rattled she knew it would not take long for them to realize that not only was no one guarding her but that somehow she had slipped out entirely. She made a mad dash towards the backdoor and shoved it open with all her might.

OOO

Connor had barely touched the door handle when it flew open and a woman crashed into him brandishing a piece of glass in a bloodied hand. He had no doubt scared the hell out of her but she did not scream, instead she fell backwards against the doorframe and then lunged at him with the glass. She had no idea if he was friend or foe but one thing she was certain about: She could not trust a man who's face was obscured by a white hood.

Her movements were frantic and easily countered, he was able to block her first strike with ease and grasp her wrist with his other hand forcing the glass from her grip. Then he captured her other wrist in one hand, she shrieked in pain, knees buckling slightly. Connor took a closer look at her hand, blood dripping, though she didn't seem to notice. There were deep, angry welts on her wrists, no doubt from bindings that had cut deep, much deeper then they should have been.

And she wasn't dressed like anyone else, her clothes were an eclectic mix of two cultures, leather leggings, a fringe skirt that stopped short of her knees gathered largely to the right side, stained in blood and earth. Her shirt was a long sleeved, a type of fabric that the colonials wore, it stopped at her elbows, light and breathable, her boots were akin to something that trappers and hunters wore, standard shin length fur trimmed for added warmth and comfort but also durable leather. Here and there bits and pieces of feather and beaded jewelry, and an unusual charm around her neck. Clashing cultures again, but her features were without a doubt very much _not_ native.

Her skin held a little more color then most but still pale in comparison to Connors, high cheek bones framed her face, as though a portrait. Her hair was a deep russet color that hung loosely on her shoulders, matted and tangled. Her eyes were wide open and in them Connor saw a mixed look, deep pools of green that swirled with anger, fear and surprise.

Was she the woman? Not quite what he was expecting, not to say that Connor was expecting a damsel in distress crying and screaming for help. All the same, judging by the condition of her clothes, and her general well being she was most certainly a prisoner.

OOO

The hooded stranger pressed her against the doorway to stay out of sight and to be sure that she did not take him lightly, Chenoa yelped as the hard wood met with her back "Are you Chenoa?" His voice was deep, husky and commanding, English was probably not his first language, and judging by what skin of his she could see was darker but not as dark as others. The union of a colonial and a native?

Chenoa nodded "Yes," uncertain of just how much English he spoke, she still could not see his face.

"Do you wish to stay here?" She shook her head violently, inwardly screaming 'No' at the prospect of remaining a prisoner. "Then come with me, stay low and move quickly." Chenoa nodded and followed his lead, together they ran.

OOO

_Two Days Earlier_

_Wiping the sweat away from her brow she exhaled a deep breath that she felt she had held the entire time, upon finishing she held the bottle to his lips again and he drank its contents down in a few swallows, it helped with the pain. A damp cool cloth over his hear to clear away the dirt, grime and blood, the alcohol seemed to be taking effect as it numbed the pain in his side. Surgery took a heavy toll on the men who endured it with nothing but alcohol to ease their suffering, the same could not be said for the field surgeon who had to remain sober and clear minded. She had to listen to his screams and the others who held them down despair their body thrashing in the unspeakable agony. The only mercy involved was that they were fortunate enough to have a talented surgeon who was both knowledgable and quick, she also always seemed to have some form of liquor on her. _

_His suffering was ending as he gradually drifted off to sleep, the screams always died down at night to be replaced by soft groans. Stepping outside of the tent she looked to the sky and for a moment was at peace, Chenoa never stayed very long at the encampments as she wasn't overly fond of blood and preferred to keep her distance when it came to the war that was raging on at the moment. Whenever she wasn't needed she was gone, no one knew where. Like the sun itself, when it rose she would return._

_Ten men had been brought to the camp suffering many wounds, Chenoa usually tended to the most severe, bullet wounds bayonet lacerations, sickness, and always with a quiet grace and dignity but she would never not help someone. Certainly an oddity. She dressed like a native in buckskin, leathers and furs, she spoke many tongues and knew many customs, yet she wasn't a native. She had the pale skin of a colonial, and at one point was one of them, but that was a lifetime ago. An identity she had shed when her mother died. With the last man tended too she gathered her bag and began the quiet walk out of the camp and to her own retreat, she never liked to remain long the scent of blood was enough to make her stomach turn and she preferred the open skies where only the ambient sounds followed her and the perfume of the earth cleansed her senses. _

_Many of the men she tended to expressed a desire to thank her but she was always gone when they woke up and although they wished to thank her, Chenoa always maintained that thanks was not necessary. Away from the camp, she was able to hear the earth speak to her again, the nights were growing colder and although many sought civilization to keep themselves warm Chenoa preferred solitude and had always known how to live off the land. As the skies grew darker Chenoa disappeared like a ghost until she was needed again, no doubt she would be retracing her steps very soon because with every life she saved at least a dozen more in dire need and an unknown number who would die. _

OOO

Men dying left, right and center as Connor sliced a path through anyone who stood in his way. Chenoa was no stranger to seeing blood and suffering, instinct demanded that she stop and help them, administer aid to those who needed it. However her personal feelings demanded that she watch them die for the cruelties they had inflicted upon her. Either way she didn't have time, Connor grabbed her forearm careful to mind the placement of his hand to avoid the tender flesh of her wrists. Dodging bullets and Redcoats adrenaline pulsed throughout her body and gave her strength that she was convinced she no longer had.

She could feel her heart pounding in her head as Connor lead her up to one of the fortified walls. Imagining that they would duck out of of the gates to a horse and off into the woods, however it was not in the cards. Racing up the steps Chenoa skidded to a halt when she looked upon their escape route in horror.

A twenty foot drop into the frigid waters of the river below was now staring back at them. She was certainly no fool and was well aware of the danger lurking in the cold waters. Chenoa glimpsed at Connor with a look of utter shock and horror, his face showed no signs of distress as he glanced from the water back to Chenoa. She started to shake her head but barely finished the motion when he seized her arms and leapt into the river.

OOO

The water was so cold. It was ungodly, sending shockwaves throughout throughout her body, it made her want to gasp for air. She fought the urge to breathe despite how her lungs burned and forced her way to the surface just as a bullet flew past her head. Another deep breath and she dove back in searching for Connor, it was dark and difficult to see but she spied him out of the corner of her eye and swam towards him, fighting the cold.

The water was unpleasant at best, but their problems would certainly only get worse once out of the water and the frigid, unforgiving wind began its attack on their wet clothes.

OOO

Again, a big thanks to my reviewers, I'm constantly revising bits and pieces here and there. Once more I'm still not sure how far or where this is going but stay tuned, worst case scenario this may become a lemon with no real resolution.

~The Great Wicked


	4. The Strength to Go On

Shiver

The Great Wicked

Once more thanks to my reviewers, your words of encouragement are greatly appreciated.

The current had swept them downriver quickly, their head occasionally breaking the surface for air before diving again, at least under the water bullets were less likely to hit them. Connor took hold of her arm and gestured frantically towards the river bank now that they were several hundred yards down. Breaking the water that last time and climbing out of the river felt like Chenoa had been struck hard in the chest. Each breath hurt more then the last, worse then the Redcoats. On her hands and knees in the shallow area gasping for her breath and trying to still the shivering she now felt coursing throughout her body, she tried to sort out her thoughts. Connor grabbed her hand and pulled her to feet and lead her out of the water, a curt nod from him and he turned towards the wooded area he began walking, he was either unaffected by the pain and cold or just very good at hiding it.

To say that Chenoa was still in a state of shock and awe would be an understatement, she had been a prisoner for two days and out of the grey skies he had come. Single-handedly stormed a British occupied fort and then the two of them dove into the cold waters of a river and somehow survived all of that, all she could do was look on mouth slightly agape. Not that she wasn't grateful, but all the same this man, whomever he was was either mad or had a death wish, possibly both, as he walked he began to strip his clothes. Completely mad.

On unsteady legs she followed him, she had to know now, so she asked "Who are you?" He gave no response but kept walking, now down to his trousers and boots, wet clothes in his left arm. "I said who are you?" Still no response, she hurriedly caught up to him trying not to stare at his dark muscular skin, she threw herself in front of him halting his movement with her hands in front of him. "I say who?" Once more no response, the thought crossed her that perhaps he simply didn't speak much more English "Do you not know my words?"

Stopped by the woman whom was a far cry from what he expected he finally gave a response "I am no one to be trifled with." His voice was dangerous and unpredictable, sending chills up her spine, or perhaps it was the cold. He noted the bits of frost starting to collect on the edges of her clothes and reached forward a hand to grasp the bottom of her blouse and he bang to lift it up. Chenoa stumbled out of his reach a few paces, her arms protectively covering her chest, Connor shook his head "You will freeze, you need to get out of those clothes."

He walked on understanding that he had no doubt made her uncomfortable. He heard he reluctant footsteps as she began to walk again, pulling at some of the leather ties of her clothing. It was the logical thing, of course, wet clothes in the dead of winter, why had she taken his actions another way? Just a misunderstanding, was all.

Shuddering as the cold air came into contact with her skin, she realized how tired she was. No proper rest for two days, no food or water, beatings, the escape and then the river. She was so tired and with her adrenaline now fading, the heaviness of sleep deprivation began to return.

Her eyes began to feel heavy again, the cold began to to turn to numbness, her limbs were heavy. The man she followed, who had rescued her had obviously had some type of training to deal with these circumstances, she could see the spirit of the warrior in his demeanor. He walked like a man who had fought a hundred battles and he carried the weight of his deeds on his shoulders, it seemed to cause him to sink a little heavier into the snow with each step. Whoever he was he had the strength to go on, Chenoa did not.

OOO

The sound of a body crumpling into the ground was unmistakable, turning sharply his eyes widened Connor was instantly at her side. It was never an easy sight seeing someone suffer or weak, a woman, more so. It tugged at every heartstring he had. He pulled her body close to his, her skin was like ice, frost was beginning to develop on the locks of her hair and she was not responsive. The past several hours had been a blur and he finally took in all of her physical condition, seemingly endless welts and bruises, deep cuts into her skin, redness on her neck, jaw and shoulders, and what looked like lashes on her back caked with dry blood. He briefly considered what she must have endured the last two days, his unorthodox escape, while successful had taken more strength then she had to give.

In his life Connor had never been close to a woman but the idea of her life slipping through his fingers was something that bothered him more then he expected. He tried to ignore the odd feeling in the back of his throat and the weight in his stomach as he stripped away the rest of her clothes and held her body flush against his warming her with his arms and hands. It was easy to forget just how well prepared he was in comparison to others. He knew his own body heat in the cold would not be enough, he had to get her someplace warm if she was to have any chance. With Chenoa in his arms and their clothes rolled into his coat slung over his back, he stood up, took a deep breath and began to run.

OOO

I know this chapter was fairly short but I'm building up…! To… something… Or perhaps not. Anyhow, a special big thanks to one of my most spirited reviewers Mer3Girl and everyone else who's taken time to tell me how much they like my writing. Read and review as always, thanks again!


	5. Leaving the Longhouse

Shiver

The Great Wicked

Someplace warm. One of the longhouses where she lived with her people as a child, and that song her mother used to sing to her. The warm fire, her family and friends nearby, laughing, eating, smiling. She was warm again and for a moment she had forgotten about her capture, the beatings, the escape, then the man in the white hood and the river. Did she die? Had her body finally given out? Had she been received by the great spirit?

Death was supposed to be a wonderful release from life's woes, she did not feel cold from the wind, nor did she feel the pain from her wounds. She felt no hunger or thirst, and greatly enjoyed the fire and enjoy the presence of the people near her. The soft mat beneath her beckoned for her to lay down and close her eyes and she could find no reason to deny herself his pleasure. She lowered herself and rested on her side, propped up on one elbow she felt at ease as she glanced around the room enjoying the happy chatter, she was at peace.

Yet, as she looked around the faced she saw were not as familiar as she thought. The woman sitting to her left now looked less like her mother and more the woman in the camps who had prepared fresh bandages for her. A young man sharpening a spear looked more like a young man she had treated for a bullet would less then a fortnight ago. In alarm she sat up and stood, searching the faces of the many people in the longhouse and the sudden realization had come to her as they often do in times of distress. These were not the faces of her dearly departed, but rather the faces of those who had depended on her in the world of the living.

She then felt the fog veiling her memory began to lift, the sting of the harsh slaps, the icy stab of the frigid waters, the ache of her first breath once she broke the surface, and the warmth of a soft blush as she followed the hooded man and watched him strip his wet clothes. He turned to her and offered his hand to her, waiting. His form was vapor like and as he moved he danced like a phantom, all the time waiting for her to take his hand. Chenoa took a weary step forward and reached forth her hand when he finally withdrew his, turning he began to walk away.

Although the fire was warm and the longhouse was familiar and inviting, a heavy weight now hung on her shoulders, the weight of responsibility. Her responsibility. Far too many people depended on her for her to just give in and lie dow to die, it was not her time. With a deep sadness, Chenoa realized the truth, she could not stay here. She found herself turning from the happy faces and leaving the longhouse, the wind grew colder and sharper, she began to shiver, and after all the dead do not shiver.

As the fires of her home grew distant she began to feel another warmth, small within her. Soft at first but then it grew warmer and warmer as she fought her way to consciousness.

OOO

Chenoa was not dead at all, she was very much alive, Aches and pains afforded to her the last several days began to awaken her dulled senses. Slowly her eyes opened, squinting at the bright light of the fire in the hearth. She was inside a house, laying on someones bed, thick blankets covering her, soft on her skin. She sat up, wincing as she did so, taking in her new surroundings, things here were oddly familiar, she had been here before.

"Goodness Chenoa! You're awake!" In the doorway stood Sarah, the woman who provided bandages for Chenoa's aid. The woman she had seen in the longhouse, she looked very relieved to see Chenoa. "Bless the man! He said he would bring you back and he did!" Sarah went to Chenoa's side and threw her arms around her in a hug, "Truth be told, we did not think we'd ever see you again. Bless that man!" Sarah registered Chenoa's confused and dazed state and realized Chenoa did not understand what had happened Sarah stood and brought a bowl of something hot and set it on the table at her bedside, "Here, eat this. Slowly though, the stomach can shrink quite a bit in five days."

"Five days?" Chenoa posed, her voice was but a harsh whisper

"Oh yes, Chenoa you've been gone for five days, unconscious for the last three when he came back with you in his arms." He? The man in the hood

"The man in the white hood," Sarah nodded gesturing for her to eat, but the food did not interest Chenoa. "What happened?"

Sarah sighed half in relief, half in astonishment "Dear me, he said you had suffered much," She paused "You do not remember?"

"Who?"

"Who what?"

"The man in the white hood, who is he?"

"Oh!" Sarah replied giving the bowl to Chenoa hoping she would worry less about what had happened and eat something. "Well, what his right name is I've never been able to pronounce much less remember, but around here he's called Connor. Bless him for saving you!"

"Connor," Chenoa repeated, the name seemed to fit him but it did not seem like it was his birth name. "Connor," She said once more to herself. "How did he find me?"

"Lord if I know, when you didn't show up at sunrise many of the men began to fear for your safety. Rumors had drifted in about the Redcoats having taken a prisoner, we had hoped it was not you but it seems that it was." Chenoa finally reached for the food, Sarah's cooking, warm and filling. "Some of the men had wanted to go and search for you, thats when Connor returned. He heard talk among the men and said he would find you. Three days ago he returned with you, poor dear. We thought we had lost you."

Chenoa looked up remembering the longhouse, "For a moment there, you very nearly did." Bringing the bowl to her lips she finished its contents, feeling a sting as the food hit her stomach. "Where is he now?"

"Connor?" Sarah ushered for Chenoa to lay down and rest as she took the bowl and turned to leave the room "He left, just after he returned you to us, something about finding a man called Church."

Chenoa wanted to ask many more questions, but she knew that getting answers now or later didn't matter, he had saved her life and at least no she had a name to his face.

OOO

Oh Connor! Why must you be so stoic and mysterious? Oh well, we love you anyway!


	6. A Week in a Glance

Shiver

The Great wicked

_Five days ago_

_"Commander." Connors addressed as he walked up to a man in a blue cloak and a tri-corner hat, it was Commander Washington. He turned his head and nodded to Connor_

_"Connor," His voice was heavy with unrest_

_"Any word on Lee?" _

_"Not yet," Washington sighed heavily as though trying to rid himself of the thoughts that gave him such unrest. "My apologies, I've been distracted."_

_"What is it that distracts you?" _

_"Its just one thing after another, first supply caravans for the camp have gone missing, then the unrest from the men due to her disappearance."_

_"Disappearance?" _

_"Yes, forgive me. A woman who gives aid to our men and our cause has gone missing, on both cases I suspect treachery."_

_"Who is it that has gone missing?"_

_"Some native woman, called Chenoa. I'm afraid many of our men will fall without her aid." Connor looked confused "She's a medicine woman, travels here and tends to our injured and sick. We've long since been without any proper doctor for months now, she turned up out of the blue and has since been here. Yesterday she did not show up, many of the men are anxious. She's very dear to all of them."_

_"Why is there no physician here?"_

_"Politics and money, we're hard pressed out here. Situation is always... fluid. We received word not long ago that a doctor may be able to journey here but without Chenoa I worry."_

_"Then I will find her."_

_"She's one woman, Connor, and while her aid is needed, I cannot in good conscience send you out to find her. You are too great an ally to risk loosing because of a woman." A great anger rose up inside Connor, he thought of the last time he tried to save someone, his mother. How she had sent him away and told him to be strong, if he had only been a little older, or stronger, had he gotten there sooner. He could have saved her, but she sent him away. _

_Now here he was, years later, a stronger man and now possessing the skills that could have saved his mother, he clenched his fists and he steeled his will. "I will find her." There was something in his voice that Washington knew better then to contest. _

_"If you are resolved to do so, then there isn't much I can do to stop you." Washington placed a heavy hand on his shoulder, not questioning Connor's reasonings for his course of action. "Some men have recently come to us, if there is word on what has happened in the fields, they may know." Connor nodded and turned to leave "Connor," He turned back for a moment "Good luck."_

OOO

_Three days ago_

_He did not know how long he had been running but he was certain that he could not stop, not even for a moment. She was nearly weightless and lifeless in his arms, skin cold, eyes closed. He found himself finally slowing and eventually stopping in a wooded enclosure along a natural outcropping of rocks, they formed a cavern, shielded from the elements. _

_He looked upon the cavern with some uncertainty, he did not know if it was safe, or if it was inhabited, or if anyone else knew of its location. As he looked from the cavern to Chenoa, snowflakes had begun to collect on her lashes, he nodded to himself and entered setting her gently down onto the dirt floor. _

_He knew that his running had helped stave off death a bit longer, but now that he had stopped he had to work quickly. He gathered sticks and kindling arranging them into a pile and he began to strike flint with his tomahawk, the sparks flew and danced before they faded into nothingness. A few more strikes and finally the strongest of the sparks caught some of the wood shavings, he lifted them into his hands, blowing on them softly, encouraging them to grow. The shavings glowed softly as they began to nurture the smallest flames, a few moments later he nestled them down into the rest of the wood, careful not to smother the growing flames. _

_He watched as the fire grew and grew until it was self sustaining, it feasted on the dry wood, as the flames licked at the air. He turned to Chenoa, laying still and silent, he found himself hoping that at the very least she was having somewhat pleasant dreams. He threw their still damp clothes onto bits of the protruding rocks to dry, then sat near the fire and pulled Chenoa into his arms with her back against his chest. The fire was helping, she skin no longer felt like ice, he brought his hands up and began to rub her arms, generating more heat, perhaps she would awaken._

_Part of him however, hoped that she would not, it would be a somewhat awkward situation, he hadn't even the slightest idea of how he would explain himself or how she would take the whole thing. She was eager to get out of his reach when he had taken hold of her clothes after getting out of the river, he hadn't meant to startle her, he was trying to help. This would certainly be difficult to explain, it was the natural thing to do among his people, but he was very confused about this woman. She dressed in clothes akin to many natives but had no physical characteristics of his people. He had never seen a woman with such colored hair, it was like the fire itself, he reached up and grasped a lock of it in-between his fingers, inspecting the color more closely. He had never seen such a color._

_Connor forced himself to drop her hair and returned to warming her with his hands, trying not to think too deeply of this… unique situation. This was the natural thing to do to stave off freezing to death, he knew that, but then why did he feel so… awkward? He shook his head and stared deeply into the flickering flames as they dances and leapt._

_Keep staring at the fire._

_It was all he could do to distract himself from his situation, and by situation he meant the beautiful, naked, beaten woman in his grasp._

_Just keep staring at the fire._

_Ignore her breathing, how soft her skin was, the length of her legs and how the shadows from the firelight danced over her skin._

_Keep staring at the fire._

_He then moved his thoughts to something else, her voice when she'd asked who he was, she'd spoken English but he could tell that it probably wasn't her first language, or maybe even her second. Her words sounded like his own, he knew the language but wasn't completely comfortable in speaking it, not as comfortable as he was in his own tongue. Those men and the Commander had called her a native, that she was from a Powhatan tribe up North, perhaps she was raised among them. He could feel the same warmth spread throughout his body as he thought of the sound of her voice, this thought wasn't helping him._

_His eyes flickered on something else to draw his attention, they landed on the deep welts on her wrists, he could see where the rope had cut into the skin. The sight angered him beyond all reasoning, carefully lifting her hand and holding it in his own he examined the wound more closely. The heat burning inside him now moved for another reason, how could they treat a woman this way? _

_His thumb grazed over her wrist several time following the patterns of the dark bruises, he tried not to think of the damage he saw on the rest of her body as he had stripped her own clothes earlier. He swallowed a hard lump in his throat and let her hand fall, returning his gaze to the fire. He had a hunch that it would no doubt be a very long night._

_OOO_

_The Previous Day_

Connor had acquired a horse in his haste to return Chenoa to the settlement, every moment she remained where she was, was a moment she grew closer to death. He rode the horse hard to return to the settlement as fast as he could, the night of rest and the warmth of the fire had seen much improvement in Chenoa, whom was still out cold. He felt a sigh of relief when the settlement was now within his sight, the familiar gate and in the distance he could see many of them looking out to his direction.

He strode through the gate and dismounted with Chenoa in his arms wrapped up in his jacket, on top of her own now dry clothes. Many of the locals had rushed out to greet him, astonished that as good as his word, he had found her and returned with her.

"Good heavens!" One of the women exclaimed in utter shock "You've found her! Bless you Connor! Bless you!"

"She has suffered much and is in need of food and rest, I bound her wounds as best I could." Several of the men had stepped forward and taken her from his arms eager to get her into the warmth of a house, for a moment he stared after her, hoping that she would soon wake up, until a voice from behind him startled him

"You don't disappoint do you Connor?" It was Commander Washington, Connor turned to face him "You're as good as your word, you've done a great service in returning her to us, Connor." He paused for a moment, "Even if it was not necessary,"

"You would leave one of your own to die at the hands of your enemies?"

"Well thats the thing Connor, she's not one of our own." Connor did not like where this was going, his eyes narrowed "That is, Chenoa… Well, its complicated. Regardless we are grateful to you, no doubt she will be as well when she wakes."

"You mean, if she awakes." Connor followed Washington away from the commotion towards one of the fortified walls "She has suffered much during her time in captivity. No doubt regular beatings, I trust you saw the fruits of those ill labors." Referring to her bruises and injuries, Washington sighed and closed his eyes

"I did." Something weighed very heavily now on Washington, perhaps he too now considered just what had happened. He longed to speak on other things, not liking the guilt he felt for allowing Chenoa to leave and be captured.

"Does the guilt make your burden greater?" He asked, not expecting an answer, Washington gave none, he knew that he had felt somewhat responsible. "You spoke of a caravan that had disappeared several days ago." He offered the opportunity to change the subject which Washington gratefully accepted

"A traitor named Benjamin Church, recently released from prison has vanished as well." He paused and took several steps "The two events are surely related."

"What was his crime?"

"He was caught sending letters to the loyalists, detailing our troop strengths. He claimed it was a scare tactic, that we might avoid war." He shook his head "A poor lie."

"I will find Church for you,"

"Why? What reason have you to help?" Washington questioned, although he wasn't sure why.

"Does it matter?"

"As you wish. We've received reports of trouble along the southern road. Might be he's responsible. I suggest you begin your search there." Connor nodded and left without a word.

OOO

One of my longer chapters, hope you all enjoyed it. i find that I rather like writing Connor, eh's pretty quiet and doesn't waste effort on unnecessary words, makes him easy to write.


	7. Screams Against the Sky

Shiver

The Great Wicked

Note from the author: I hope I've done well enough to not get any of my main facts regarding Chenoa wrong, so far I've established that she was a colonial who was partially raised by the Powhatan tribe which was primarily located in Virginia and parts of Pennsylvania and New Jersey. The primary language of the Powhatan's was Virginia Algonqiuan and its now an extinct language so sadly the words that Chenoa speaks will not be the real thing so I'm doing my best to find translations that are close, if anyone has any information for me then I'd love to talk to you, so PM me! Thanks for your readership and patience everyone I love writing Chenoa so I want to pay proper respect to her fictional heritage. Happy Reading!

The reviews are great and to Me3Girl yes! I did quite a bit of research as to Chenoa's name and I was hoping for a name that more or less gestured to 'The People' but nothing panned out, then I found Chenoa. Worked out pretty good if I do say so myself. I was also aiming for a juxtaposition as to the nature of what both of them do. Connor as assassin and Chenoa a healer. So far I'm really enjoying how everyone seems to be loving the interaction between the two despite the fact that they're had very little interaction.

OOO

The winter snows had begun to melt, patched of dirt and grass were fighting their way to the surface despite the cold. Two weeks had passed since Chenoa's rescue and despite pleas from all who knew her, Chenoa's spirit was restless and she could not stand to lay still while there was work to be done. Sarah had done as much as she could to make Chenoa's work easier for her, fetching supplies, helping move the wounded and any other task that demanded physical exertion, and while the gesture was touching it was slowly driving her mad.

Chenoa had been raised by many people of many tribes and the one thing that was the same wherever she was, was that there was no one person that did not pull their weight. No one was given special treatment, if you could not do your work then you stayed out of the way, or found some other useful employment. Chenoa was hurt, not dead and certainly not useless. You did not need to be in top physical shape to boil bandages, or wash a wound with water, or administer medicine, yet every time she turned around Sarah was reaching for things that she was perfectly capable of getting or doing herself. Chenoa found herself biting her tongue and casting aggravated glances.

"How many more?" Chenoa asked as she cleansed her hands staining the water the lightest shade of red, Sarah by her side holding out a cloth to dry her hands looked back at the number of men laying on cots and stretchers. Some nursing minor scrapes, other bullet wounds and drowned spirits.

"Quite a few," She sighed deeply and cast Chenoa a reassuring glance "Word of your skills has gotten around it seems," While she was certain that this was intended to be some sort of compliment, the only thing that Chenoa could see was the pointlessness of it all. Men and boys dying everyday, whatever these colonists were after, it didn't seem to be peace.

"Bring me the next," Chenoa gestured to a man lying on a stretcher, his leg was bloodied and the flesh shredded just beneath the shin, no doubt from bullets and shrapnel. It was hard not to grimace at the mans current state, what Chenoa saw did not bode well for him, she pushed his hair out of his face and gave him a smile "Twill be alright," The cold reality was that he may have had to loose the leg, and field amputations were nothing to be scoffed at or shaken off. Removing the limb was little better then dying. Not many recovered, it was a complicated procedure, there was always the possibility of complications and infections, then there was the pain and his screams. Even with the best tools and medicine his chances were 50/50 even if the physical injuries healed, there was no guarantee that the mans mind would heal. A fractured mind comes from a broken body and if that were the case then there was little Chenoa could do to ease his suffering.

The mans fortunes after he left her care wasn't what kept her up at night, what stayed with her were the screams. Always the screams, long after the last man had been tended too. The screams always stayed.

OOO

Chenoa pretended not to notice the glances and the whispers that came and went as she passed by, people she had known for months now looked at her differently.

They questioned her now.

The signs of struggle that her body bared were indicative of days of torture and cruelty, and yet somehow she returned, she was saved. It seemed that most people clung to the notion that the Redcoats just let her go, and if that was the way of it, then why? Why would the British let a prisoner to go? What had she told them? But Chenoa had not been released, he had saved her. The man in the white hood. Connor. It seemed that no one believed that he had helped at all, that he was never there and that she had made him up.

As questions like these came to light they spawned even more, uglier questions. People realized just how little they knew of Chenoa, they did not know where she came from, what of her family, her people, or why a colonial would forsake the life of ease and privilege for the harsh life of natives. Just who was Chenoa?

The people weren't the only ones to notice this, upon her return Commander Washington even paid her a visit, just having sent off Connor to another mission and he had imposed a new set of rules. He said they were for her safety, but she knew that was not the way of it. Why would he be more concerned about her safety then that of his people?

Chenoa could not leave the encampment at all, she was given a room, provided by Sarah of course, to stay in. She was not to be left alone, wherever she went someone always followed. Oh, they might have dressed up their reasonings, just checking to make sure she was aright, wanting to see if she needed help, wanting to talk, but Chenoa knew the truth. Some time in-between her capture and her return, they had begun to distrust her. She was even checked up on at night, she pretended to be asleep and pretended to ignore the eyes that fell upon her form, watching her. She wasn't happy about the whole thing either but there was little she could do.

Although Chenoa had made great contributions to those fighting the war, never once had she said that she was an ally. Whenever someone asked her about her thoughts of a free and independent nation she would often respond with an enlightened look followed by "I think it is a wonderful idea." Chenoa was neither friend or foe and for that reason she now knew that the colonials would never truly trust her, and outsider once more. It wasn't for her safety, that those new rules had been imposed, it was because Chenoa was a watcher and a listener and if she were ever taken again then there would be no hooded figure to rescue her.

Not that she would ever admit it but she had indeed feared for her life and although she knew she would never give information to the British, she also knew that the human body could only stand so much pain before even a will of iron snapped like a dry twig. If it hadn't been for Connor.

Connor.

She now knew his name but rarely spoke it, referring to him as the man in the white hood, his name just did not seem to fit.

Her nights were spent in the sparsely decorated room she now occupied, the four blank walls, a fireplace, a bed and table and a window. Her only window. After she was checked up on she would often clamber out of the window and sit on the rooftop. It wasn't the same as the fields, smoke clouded the skies and due to the candlelight and constant movement, the world never felt at peace, but at least she could see the stars. The groans and cries of the wounded men and angered arguments still managed to reach her ears. No one ever asked why Chenoa would leave and spend her nights away from civilization and for a time Chenoa herself didn't know, but now that she was deprived of it she understood. It was easier to understand why she was alone under the stars, then it was to be surrounded and wonder why.

At what point did she go from being an aid to the weak, to a bird its cage?

OOO

"I can kill you now if you'd prefer," He waited, brandishing his hidden blade as he watched Connors movement. He paced in a predatory manner, regarding his father, not answering him, could he trust him? He didn't know but he had a point they had a common goal, more or less. "Excellent! Shall we be off"

Father and son. Reluctant partners, each convinced that the other was on the wrong side, too proud to say otherwise. With few words they left the church and departed into the snows.

OOO

Read and review, thanks everyone!


	8. Gone

Shiver

The Great Wicked

The long awaited doctor had arrived several days ago and in the short span of time he had been there, he had somehow managed say everything possible to offend and insult Chenoa. Even more irritating, no one said anything to the contrary or told the man to mind his tongue. He had criticized her methods, her skills, even made a point of indirectly calling her a traitor to her people and by people, he of course meant the colonials.

"What on earth could the savages have to offer then civilized society?" He made no to attempt to hide his opinions, in fact it seemed that it was a game for him. Seeing how quickly he could cause an outburst, to prove that Chenoa was a savage. She would not grant him this, the closest thing he heard to a retort were a few words in a language that he couldn't understand, whenever she did need to vent it was always in other tongues.

It wasn't that the man insulted her that bothered her the most, it was that he had made her look like she did not know what she was doing. People began to shy away from her when they needed treatment, as though she were some fool with no skill at all.

Within the week, Chenoa could bear it no more and as she returned to her room, latching the door and trying to soothe the anger that now flooded her veins. She was more or less treated well, seven had several people that she could still count as friends, but knew that it was not enough and that it would surely only get worse. It was time for her to take her leave.

OOO

The air was abuzz with excitement as a wagon loaded down with barrels, crates and bags and a familiar hooded figure at the reigns, face obscured, like always. He received a hero's welcome, he did not desire it though, he had only done what needed to be done. For the greater good. It did him some good to see that whatever had been happening in the world, however grim the situation had become there were still places where good was being done. Good that he did not have to wait years to see, everyone would rest a little easier.

Connor scanned the crowd for Commander Washington but did not see him, he was not surprised that he was not present, busy man. However as he looked on another man approached him, he looked somewhat familiar, Connor had probably seen him in passing.

"You're as good as your word Connor, Commander Washington was right to place his trust in you," Connor met the mans gaze, understanding him to be in some seat of authority. "Jonathan Moore," He held out his hand, Connor reached forth and shook it, still thinking it an odd custom. "Was anything missing?"

"No, this is all the supplies that Benjamin Church stole," Moore began to look into the cart scanning the contents.

"Connor, you've done us a great service in returning these, things will be a little easier here now."

"Where is Commander Washington?"

"Left on 'horseback just a few days ago, said he 'ad things to attend to. He asked me to pass on his thanks, should you return, and here you are. We're very grateful, the doctor has been roaring lately for more supplies," he said in passing as he walked with Connor throughout the settlement.

"I am glad to be of service." Connor nodded, as the ruckus had settled down and people returned to their work, more welcoming faces, but he noticed after a short while that there was one face that he had not seen. He left Moore's company and began walking aimlessly for a short time, his thoughts interrupted abruptly.

"Connor!" He faced the source of the voice, a familiar accent and a face that he had seen before, Sarah. "They said that you had returned with the stolen supplies and here you are! Even better then your word." Connor nodded in response, not really being one for small talk "Seems we never get the time to properly thank you for what you've done before you're off on another job."

"You will never have to."

Sara's face fell a little bit "Thats what Chenoa used to say." Used to? Past tense. Had something happened?

"Where is Chenoa? Has she recovered? Is she alright?" Connor hadn't meant to bombard her with questions, he certainly hadn't meant to sound so desperate either, he had to keep reminding himself that he didn't really even know Chenoa.

Her eyes darted around, looking to see who all was nearby, she had a secret.

"Would you like some help?" Connor took the crate from her before she could say yes, Sarah picked up a woven basket that was at her feet and lead Connor through the streets.

"Chenoa's gone."

OOO

Read and review, thanks everyone.


	9. Whispers and Rumors

Shiver

The Great Wicked

Authors Note: In the interests of pacing the story and begin able to tell a slightly different tale I'm going to do a little bit of jumping around the timeline. Nothing major, but its hard to tell a story when its halfway through, in my mind Chenoa and Connor's tale is like the breath of fresh air that walks in the door. So once more I apologize for changing things up, just go with it. Thanks again everyone!

OOO

"Chenoa's gone."

"Why?" Connor found himself hearing Sarah's words but not truly hearing them.

"Thought it would be best under the circumstances,"

"What circumstances?" Connor had to remind himself to lower his voice as he walked with Sarah, being mindful of who was near and what they said. Sarah gestured towards her house and went inside, taking one last glance to who was watching before shutting the door behind her.

"Are you hungry?" What an odd question, very out of place. After a moment and an odd look from Sarah Connor caught on that there was a dual meaning and played along. He sat the crate down on the table before sitting down, himself. "Been a while since you've had a hot meal?"

"Too long." Sarah busied herself for a moment at the stove then returned with a bowl and some bread, then sat across from Connor.

"Alright, there's no point in beating around the bush," Connor didn't quite understand all the phrases these colonials used but did understand them to be a metaphor of some kind. "Chenoa didn't stay in bed long, the next morning she was up at dawn as though nothing had happened, should 'ave stayed in bed she should, she was in right horrible shape but then you knew that." That didn't seem out of character, based on what he knew. "She didn't speak very much, something inside her had changed, but she wouldn't talk about it. We was all concerned but she wouldn't speak on it, Commander Washington even stopped by to pay her a visit, went on about needing to know what happened if he was to be able to help her." Sarah shook her head, hadn't believed him for a second.

"You do not seem touched by his concern." Sarah scoffed

"He didn't care about Chenoa, had such a guilty manner about himself, couldn't look her in the eye. He kept on asking about her captivity," Her words trailed off as though she wasn't sure what to not say to not offend the absent Chenoa

"He wanted to know if she had spoken to the British?"

"Most certainly. I was in the room myself, when he asked her about it, her eyes went steely and her voice was cold. I've never seen Chenoa like that before, it was like all the cheer had gone from the room."

"What did she say?" Sarah opened her mouth but no words came out, she hesitated, "You will show her no disrespect by repeating her words to me," Connor spoke, trying to reassure her, recognizing the hesitation.

"She said that what was done, was done and that dwelling on it would do no good. She never did actually say what happened but after that people started to talk." She paused her voice growing dark "People was saying things about her, how maybe she said something to them Redcoats to get better treatment." Connor felt something burn inside him, having had seen her injuries first hand, but he said nothing and allowed Sarah to continue. "Chenoa may not be for the revolution but she's no traitor and would never say anything that could put us in harms way." She was now visibly agitated as though the thought outraged her, Connor knew this feeling and gave her a reassuring nod, she calmed herself and went on. "I'm no fool, I know very good and well what them Redcoats probably did to her. Right monsters the lot of them! Chenoa would have come out looking a lot better if she had given them what they wanted to know, you saw her."

Connor nodded, unable to have forgotten the image and not liking where the conversation was going. "There were questions of her loyalty?"

"That there were. People who loved Chenoa stopped talking to her, started questioning things. They wanted to know more about her and what happened to her, but she never said. Chenoa's never said very much about herself, poor darlin' I always got the impression that she's had a hard life."

"Why do you think that?" Connor found his anger subsiding for a moment and his curiosity peaking when Sarah hinted at Chenoa's life being that of a darker nature.

"Whenever you ask someone about their home or family, they either smile or frown. Chenoa never did anything, she just stopped and her eyes went cold, as though she was trying to not think of it at all. I never asked out of common decency, but I know that look, something right bad happened to her."

"Where is she now?"

"Her spirits were running really low, when you brought her back Commander Washington imposed new rules, starting with Chenoa's being confined to the camp here."

Confined. A nice word for imprisoned.

"Washington thought that if she let again and she was caught again then she'd break and put us all at risk. I told everyone who spoke against her that Chenoa was no traitor. After dark unless Chenoa was doing something she was escorted to her room and the door was locked. I went to check up on her,"

OOO

_The room was lit by firelight alone, the moon was hidden behind banks of cloud cover leaving the camp in darkness. Chenoa stood looking out the window, standing still as a statue._

_"Chenoa?" Sarah called, she turned her head the tiniest, acknowledging Sarah's presence. Other then the fire there was no sign that anyone resided in that room, the satchel that Chenoa carried was slung over her shoulder "You're leaving aren't you?"_

_Chenoa's head sunk a little "My time here is finished, I can do no more." _

_"How are you going to get out of here? Commander Washington is having you watched," She paused not knowing why she felt the need to state the obvious, no doubt that if Chenoa wanted to leave then she knew what was at stake. "We need you here."_

_"You have a proper physician now, I have done all that I can do." Sarah took a step forward as though she meant to say something, anything to stop Chenoa. "I have given of myself to you and your cause, never asking for anything in return. I endured capture and torture never speaking a word against you because it was the right things to do. I return and am imprisoned again, treated as a spy or a traitor."_

_"Chenoa! No one has said a word of that sort!"_

_"They do not need to speak it for it to be true." Her shoulders slumped slightly, she knew that Sarah was a friend and she was certainly sad to leave her. "I am so tired, Sarah. I am sorry that my departure saddens you so, but I must look to heal my own heart now." There was an uncomfortable moment of silence _

_"Where will you go?"_

_"Wherever my feet take me."_

_"Let me help you escape," Chenoa turned to face her shaking her head, she crossed the space between them in a few strides placing a hand on her shoulder._

_"I cannot allow you to do such a thing, I will miss your friendship greatly, Sarah." Chenoa paused for a moment as though she was uncertain of something "And I'm sorry Sarah,"_

_"For what?" No sooner had the words left her mouth then had Chenoa's fist shot out and landed square on her sternum, knocking the wind out of her followed by a quick jab to the back of her neck and she slumped to the ground._

_"For that."_

OOO

"She attacked you?" Connor was dumbstruck, regardless what he knew of Chenoa he hadn't thought her capable of such a deed. It didn't seem to bother Sarah, in fact, she smiled and chuckled.

"I woke up in her bed the next morning and Chenoa was long gone. She didn't want me to do anything that could be construed as suspicious." Sara's tale was winding down but it seemed like she knew something else that she wanted to say, hesitation stopped her once more.

"What is it?"

"I- I'm just worried. Chenoa's done so much and asked for nothing in return."

"Do you know where she went?"

"She said she had to heal her own heart." Sarah realized just how useless that bit of information was. "That doesn't help much, does it?" Connor didn't quite shake his head but the thought was there. "If you happen to ever see her, tell her no hard feelings?" Connor nodded.

"Thank you Sarah," Connor stood and moved to the door, the food Sarah offered him remaining untouched.

OOO

So, Chenoa's in the wind, but where to?


	10. Our People

Shiver

The Great Wicked

OOO

_"What is it that the Templars truly seek?" He almost felt bashful in asking, like he was somehow betraying the Order. Haytham turned to face his son, perhaps somewhat hopeful given Connor's question._

_"Order. Purpose. Direction. No more than that. It's your lot that means to confound with this nonsense talk of freedom." He took a step forward as though were open to the discussion, perhaps Connor was too. "Time was, the Assassins professed a far more sensible goal, that of peace."_

_"Freedom IS peace." Connor replied defiantly, disliking the way his father spoke to him as though he were a fool._

_"Oh, no. It's and invitation to chaos. Only look at this little revolution your friends have started. I have stood before the Continental Congress and listened to them stamp and shout. All in the name of liberty. But it is just noise." Haytham turned to face the horizon, speaking with force and conviction._

_"And this is why you favor Lee?" _

_Now Haytham seemed to take offense "He understands the needs of this would-be nation far better than the jobbenoles who profess to represent it."_

_Connor scoffed "It seems your tongue has tasted sour grapes. The people have made their choice- and it was Washington" He replied pointing for emphasis._

_"The people chose nothing. It was done by a group of privileged cowards seeking only to enrich themselves. They convened in private and made a decision that would benefit THEM. oh, the might have dressed it up with pretty words, but that does not make it true." Haytham's voice seethed with frustration, part of him wanting to win the verbal boxing match, the other part knowing that the harder he tried to convince his son that his cause was in the right, the more he knew he pushed him away. "The only difference, Connor- the ONLY difference between myself and those you aid- is that I do not feign affection." The topic exhausted Haytham turned his back to Connor and stared out on the sea._

_Connor was especially grateful for his deep hood at the moment, if not for the hood his father might have been able to see his look of internal conflict. He felt like a pawn at times, being strategically moved across the board by nameless players. At times when his actions and the actions of his comrades made no sense to him, he questioned himself, was he doing what was right? Had the Assassin order changed as much as his father suggested? He didn't know. _

OOO

Of course Chenoa felt guilty about her last encounter with Sarah but it had to be done. Or so she tried like hell to convince herself. The encampment was no longer safe for her, of that much she was certain, leaving had been difficult, she had known those people for many months and Sarah had felt like a sister to her. Each step taking her further away saddened her, but she knew it was not only for the best but it had to be done. To keep them and herself safe.

She had been traveling four days now, mostly by night should she happen to pass a settlement, not wanting to be seen. Staying off the main roads, making her own path, not very concerned with where it lead her, because she knew that the journey was where the things that mattered were. The only comfort she had was that she was once again under the sky and the stars shimmered and the soft light of the moon smiled upon her, she could feel the spirits whisper in her ears, urging her on, providing comfort.

But tonight there was no moon and under cloud cover the stars could not guide her, she walked in the darkness, and darkness concealed all things, and Chenoa liked it. She walked on, cloaked under the cover of the moonless night, a fine night for an escape or a rescue, as the moon watching over her could not give her position away.

Also a fine night for an ambush.

When thoughts like these occurred to Chenoa it was second nature for her to quickly and quietly examine her surroundings, search for anything that was even slightly out of place. Like a vigilant owl, searching for danger. The darkness in the air and the vast unknown, it brought back memories shrouded in mystery. Strange conversations in the middle of the night, by faces that she often saw once and then never again.

Mentioning of the dead.

At first they would usher her out of the room, then not long after a birthday they told her to remain and listen but never repeat. Always listen, never repeat.

_"She's growing up, she needs to begin, its her heritage. She must know."_

Chenoa never forgot the first night she sat up and listened with her parents and the strangers, they talked about many things she did not understand. Mentioned many names and places, always with an odd glance in her direction as though looking to see if she was listening or perhaps judging her response. Whatever else was said that first night Chenoa bore it with great maturity and respect. Never once did she mention to the outside world the goings on in her home after nightfall because she knew that once the lantern was lit the world grew a little darker. The light from the lantern weather symbolic or practical seemed as though it kept the demons of the darkness at bay and she felt safe. With her parents and the faces that she understood to trust sitting with her, protecting her and bringing her into a strange new world.

_"Do you understand why we speak of these things?" Her mother asked her once the visitors had gone, the first night she shook her head, afraid of the answer. _

_"Constance." Her fathers voice now "You are part of something bigger then you could possibly imagine." He knelt down and took his daughters hands in his own "Do you know who we are?" She raised her eyebrow in curiosity. "Who our people are?"_

Many nights since that night whenever sleep found Chenoa she was burdened with a knowledge that few people had. Was it a blessing or a curse? Many years since while she looked into the embers of a dying fire or the sky above her she pondered these things, knowing that no one would answer.

In the silence that always accompanied these thoughts she would strain her ears to listen for anything, whispers of the departed, their voices to guide her. In truth, there was nothing, just the endless procession of days, months, years. Sadly, the final lesson her parents taught her was that in the end you are alone and you can only rely on yourself. Everyone else just fades into the night.

OOO

Are we a bit more curious about Chenoa? I hope so, read and review, questions and thoughts are always welcomed. You never know I might address something you tell me in the next chapter. I know it might be a bit much to ask but if you've favorites my story then please leave a review. I'd love to know what you all think beyond 'good so far' or 'update soon.'

Random Fact of Chenoa: She has mild claustrophobia.


	11. I Spy

Shiver

The Great Wicked

OOO

A big thanks once more to anyone who has read, reviewed, favorites, or followed my story!

OOO

Connor stood off into the shadows on the side of the steeple of the church, watching but taking care to stay hidden. He had a number of ideas why Chenoa had left and any of them could be true but his intuition hinted that there was something more. Much like everything he knew about her, something darker, beneath the surface. She wasn't terribly hard to find, given what he already knew of her character, there weren't many places nearby that could benefit from the skills of a healer. And Chenoa didn't exactly blend in with the colonials, he was grateful for that.

He had been watching her for sometime now, she did nothing that would have given her away, in fact Connor found that he rather enjoyed watching her work. This was not the woman he had met those weeks ago, she had been near death, and now an entirely different woman. He was intrigued and although he had things to do he felt he could spare a few moments, just a little longer. Something about watching her made him feel at ease, like it was what he was supposed to do. Exactly where he needed to be.

The snows were mostly gone but dark clouds still hung over the horizon beckoning the rains to fall, but it didn't seem to bother her. He had tracked her to a small town probably no more then a few dozen inhabitants, yet the wounded had managed to find their way here, a small platoon of the Continental regulars. They looked as though they had walked through the gates of Hell itself, many limping, covered in blood, grime and death, behind them a wagon of their fallen comrades.

It was a grim sight, yet it didn't look as though it bothered Chenoa, of course, she was trained in medicine, she was probably accustomed to the sight of blood and injury. It looked like a massacre. As Connors thoughts drifted to his place in all of this, he hadn't noticed that the woman he'd been watching was now watching him. He blinked several times to be certain his eyes were not playing tricks on him, indeed they were not. She stood to the side of one of the buildings looking up, there was no hiding from her gaze. Was this how those whom Connor watched felt? He looked on in slight amusement, she had very keen sight to have spotted him. Chenoa remained on the spot, arms crossed over her chest, weight on her right hip, she beckoned him to come down with the wave of her hand.

Connor stared a moment more, not used to being seen, he felt as though he was a child being found in a friendly game. He stepped back and with a well placed jump he had landed ground level and within a few strides he stood across from her. The moment was silent, and it made him uncomfortable, he tried to think of something to say, anything. Chenoa continued to watch him, as though awaiting him to say something, it seemed she had a talent for being able to read people.

Connor looked to the injured men finding something to talk about "How bad are they?" He finally managed, inquiring after the health of the men, Chenoa glanced back.

"Nothing that time will not mend, theirs look to be injuries accumulated over time. A good nights rest and some food will set them right." It was true, as Connor now looked on he didn't see much blood, sure enough some were limping but the blood that was present had mostly dried. "A hot bath might improve their spirits as well."

Another silence.

"How did you find me?"

"There are only so many places nearby that would benefit from skills such as yours." He paused a moment, "And, you do not exactly blend in." Chenoa nodded, sure enough, she did seem to stand out. "Will you remain here long?"

"As long as I'm needed." Connor was now at a loss of what to say, perhaps there simply was nothing to say.

"They tell me that you are called Connor."

"That is my name."

"Is it?" She countered knowing that it was likely an adopted name. "It does not quite, suit you." Chenoa looked around noticing a number of eyes falling on the two of them, she gestured with a nod of her head to follow, he did. "Come with me," She guided him away from the small crowd and to the edge of town. To a small lake some distance, Connor was much more at ease away from the prying eyes. For a moment Chenoa stood looking at the cold waters, thinking about her first meeting with Connor and all that had happened since. She turned and looked to him before posing a question. "Why have you followed me?"

"I returned and Sarah informed me that you had gone,"

"It was no longer necessary for me to remain, they now have the services of a proper doctor." She paused, "Although, I cannot deny that I did not enjoy my time there, towards the end."

"Sarah informed me of the 'changes' that were made when I left. I was beginning to think that I had done something wrong by returning you." Chenoa stopped and looked at him in an odd manner, like a curious puppy with her head slightly tilted. Connor quickly changed the subject "I see you have recovered fully,"

"Close enough," She replied hinting at something darker beneath the surface. "I suppose I owe you for that." She stopped now that the two of them had some distance from prying eyes. "Thank you."

"There is no need for such words"

"Well, there was no foreseeable need for you to come to my aid as you did." She countered once more with a quick and sharp wit.

"There was all the need."

"Agree to disagree? It seems that we could debate this all day." Connor nodded knowing neither of them would budge.

"Sarah asked that I pass along her regards," Chenoa smiled slightly knowing to what he was referring to, he had done as Sarah had asked by passing on her words, but it wasn't what he wanted to know "Why did you not remain?" It was as close to his real question he would get, he really wanted to know why she had left before he returned? She seemed to know this was not his real query.

"I had no reason to stay." She simply replied, of course she had wanted to see him again and to thank him in person but it seemed a selfish thought to her. "I did want to thank you, and now I have. I know you are a valuable aid to Washington and to the Continentals. I would not want to keep you from the duties you have to perform."

"Chenoa," He paused, it had been the second time he had said her name, and the manner in which he said it, soft, like a hushed whisper. As though she were made of glass and might break if he spoke too loudly. "What is your name?" An odd question.

"You know my name,"

"Do I?" He countered as she had earlier, what a delightfully peak-on wit! "It does not quite suit you." Chenoa looked back at him trying to see under his hood once more, his face kept hidden.

"Is that really what you want to know?" She didn't expect a reply, she stepped closer to him, now standing mere inches away "I had hoped to see you again, I did not expect it to be this soon," Once more she did not expect an answer. "Perhaps we will meet again, and you may ask me the things you truly wish to know."

How had she known that? It was as though she had plucked the thought right from the air. A voice in the distance called Chenoa's name, they turned their heads to the source of the sound. A townsman waving to get her attention, Chenoa waved back holding up one finger, requesting one minute more. The man wandered off and Chenoa was able to turn back to Connor, she picked up something from around her neck and placed it in Connor's hand sealing it in his fist.

Before he could refute the item she held a fingertip to his lips, silencing him before he could speak. "Hold this for me, until we meet again." With the same hand she reached forward hesitantly she reached into his hood brushing it back until she could see his face and she found herself looking into two very familiar eyes "There you are," she muttered as her fingertip traced the scar on his cheek. Connor swallowed hard and fought to repress a shudder but he hid it well, this had to have been the most interaction he'd had with a woman ever. "You have my thanks, Connor," Her voice trailed off for amount, as though she expected him to interrupt her and share his true name with her, silence. Connor stood a foot six inches taller then her, standing on her toes and moving very slowly, as not to surprise him, he had an air about him that reminded her of a wolf. She leaned forward and placed a kiss to his scarred cheek.

As quickly as the whole thing had happened it had ended, and Chenoa was walking back towards the sounds of the wounded, leaving Connor feeling a heated fire where her lips had touched his skin.

OOO

Alright, so its their first real conversation, I think she likes him...


	12. The Ghosts of the Past

Shiver

The Great Wicked

In the days that followed, whether he was awake or asleep there was rarely a moment that found Connor thinking of anything other then her. Fortunately Connor was an individual who had the remarkable ability to shut the world out when something demanded his attention, however at the moment, nothing did. When it seemed that he was lost in a deep thought over the trials and struggles of the nation that was fighting to be born and to survive, his thoughts were in fact, much simpler. If it wasn't Chenoa, it was the curious metal trinket she had given him.

It was a simple item, yet it seemed that it was aching to tell him a story. The dents, dings and blemished in the aged silver item each had a tale to tell. He had looked it over and over, it looked oddly familiar but he couldn't place it. It fit perfectly into his fist. A part of her.

The item itself wasn't all that complicated, it was old, maybe a hundred years, must have been a family heirloom. Split down the middle into a 'V' shape, with its edges elegantly scripted, rounding its ends smooth. Curious item. Curious woman. Connor hated not knowing the story.

OOO

As the rain continued to fall in buckets those caught outside were quickly soaked to the bone, there was not room enough inside for the dead and wounded.

She could not save him, with her fingertips she closed his eyes and said quiet words offering him peace as he left the world of the living. Chenoa had been very familiar with death, it followed her wherever she went as a child and now as an adult. She sometimes wondered whether or not her work made any real difference at all, if she saved one another would die and the one she saved would no doubt die soon enough. She felt tired and ragged.

"Over here!" Her dark green eyes looked up from the last man she had tended to, another failure. Her clothes long since drenched, she had been treating men outside all day, trying to distance herself from her thoughts of Connor. Another opportunity in the form of a man with a grievous bullet wound to his shoulder. As she looked upon him she shook her head, barely even a man, no doubt he had never even felt the warmth of a woman.

He threw his head back and howled in agony in a last ditch attempt to not shed tears, the road from boyhood to adulthood had its fair share but they were shed in private and certainly never spoken of. Chenoa had no time for pleasantries of telling him she would help him, from one of the many bags nearby she produced a magnet and cast an apologetic look. The boy looked on in confusion not understanding what was going on.

The pain was no doubt unbearable, the bullet being pulled towards the direction of the magnet as Chenoa worked to find its location so she could remove it. This was not a quiet settlement with the luxury of a bottle of bourbon or antiseptic. This was near the front lines, men dying all around her. She had nothing to soothe the boys agony.

"Hold him! He must not move!" Hands nearby took Chenoa's direction clamping down on the young mans arms and legs, a third taking a belt and pulling it over his middle to keep him from thrashing about. Chenoa produced a set of tweezers and with one more apologetic look she dove into the boys flesh in search of the bullet.

OOO

She had long since lost track of how long she had been awake and how many countless men she had attended too. Another field doctor had arrived and bid her to take a few moments to gather her strength, she had removed the bullet from that lad's shoulder and told him he would be alright, but it was a falsehood.

So far from help, there was been no antiseptic, no anesthetic, no proper supplies and while she could remove bullets and bandage wounds she was doing so knowing full and well that the men would more then likely die if not be crippled from a secondhand infection. A horrible way to go.

The smell of death permeated the air and it felt as though it would strangle her, as though she could not breath. The rain had stopped for a short while and Chenoa sat on a barrel with her hands clamped firmly over her ears, trying to block out all sound. She could still hear the screams. The howls and the pleading for her to save them. She did all she could but it was not enough.

OOO

In the hands of anyone else, it was worthless and yet Connor looked upon it as though it were a great treasure. He could have sworn he could still feel the residual warmth from Chenoa's hands, his calloused fingertips stroking the metal, what a curiosity…

His fist clenched around the object as though protecting it,then he placed it around his neck before mounting a horse and riding out.

He had much to think on given his last 'excursion' to Martinique with his father, he had certainly had enough time to consider his words to Achilles. He had said unkind things to the old man and now he was feeling very remorseful. Achilles had become a sort of father figure to him, given his words with Haytham he felt as confused as ever in regards to what he was doing.

Why must the Assassins and the Templars fight? From what he could see, it seemed that they desired similar things. Achilles had kept his share of secrets, this much Connor knew, but he wondered if perhaps there was more to the story. His mind swimming in a sea of questions he began the trip home to the Davenport homestead.

OOO

Many miles away in the cold and empty room of the Davenport Manor Achilles woke with a start. Beads of sweat inched down his temples as he fought to rid himself of the images that sought to end his peaceful night of rest. He sat up breathing heavily trying to calm the fire in his lungs. The screams had gone.

As a master assassin he had a great many duties once, to his fellow assassins, to the Order, to the weak and to his allies. Much time had passed since his days of service and pride in his workings, and it was no secret that Achilles had lost his way, he had grown weak of heart and let his comrades down. It was a guilt that had never left him and each day he spent in relative peace and silence was a constant reminder of his greatest failure. Perhaps that was the reason he decided to take Connor under his wing and relented to train him. Not to say that Connor was not a difficult student at times, he reminded Achilles very much of himself at that age. So certain and confident, eager to learn, eager to continue his study.

He had seen something in Connor that he had once seen in himself. He constantly hoped that Connor would stay his course and be strong where he had been weak, to lead when Achilles had not.

The distraction of his final student only lasted so long, then his thoughts returned to his nightmare. His greatest failure, as he would always think of it. Images of the charred remains of what was once the home of one of his dearest friends and greatest allies. Perhaps, the thing that gave him greatest unrest was what had once dwelled in that house. A father, mother and their child, and none of them had ever been seen again.

Achilles dealt with his own hours in his own way, in private, never once had he spoken of these events to Connor. He stifled a sob in his chest and passed it off as a labored cough, and then something very unusual. A very rare tear fell from his weary eyes, although it was soundless to others, to Achilles the sound of it falling to the aged floorboards was as loud as a ship being smashed against the rocks of a storm. For the first time in many years Achilles did not fight to hold the gates, he sat up and looked out the window at the dreary world around him and let his tears consume.

OOO

Ah, the plot thickens.


	13. Good News and Troubling News

Shiver

The Great Wicked

OOO

Upon Connor's return to the homestead he stood outside looking in the direction of the manor, he tried to put together meaningful words in some form of an apology for Achilles.

The sound of quickly moving footsteps approaching him caught his ears and a moment later a hand on his shoulder prompted an instinctive reaction. In a well practiced maneuver he grasped the hand on his shoulder and flipped the person over his back and into the dirt. It was Norris.

Norris with an unusually large grin on his face, not the usual reaction when Connor flipped someone onto their back, but it did not appear to bother Norris in the least.

"My friend!"

"Norris? What are you doing?" His cheerful disposition left Connor beyond bewildered.

"She said yes!" His answer was simple as day and yet Connor still felt as though he were missing a large piece of a puzzle, he searched his mind for something he was sure was obvious. Then it dawned on him and the meaning became clear, and if it was so then there was no force on earth that could keep Norris from being joyful.

"Myriam?" Connor reached down to offer his hand to Norris still on his back and smiling like a fool.

"We are getting married!" A soft laughter and casual footsteps approaching called their attention to Myriam herself, laughing at the two men who acted as boys.

"I told you not to touch him, Norris." She shook her head standing next to Norris with his arm around her. Connor slapped Noris on the arm with a rare smile.

"Is it true?" Myriam could not contain her smile as she nodded before replying an unneeded 'Yes.' Connor was indeed happy for his friends and truthfully he could use the moment to escape.

Father Timothy now walked upon the scene eager to seek Connors help for the preparations. "So, now that you've been told, might I have a word with you?" Connor nodded before walking off with Father Timothy, in the opposite direction of the Davenport Manor. For once Connor felt light, and happy, his conversation with Achilles could wait.

OOO

Achilles sat at his desk writing in his book, the red leather bound journal that he wrote in everyday of his life, for a time. He had not been as diligent in writing init everyday, until Connor came to him. When he wrote it was at length and yet there were large gaps in the timeline of its contents. The good and the bad. His darkest secrets were in this book, he maintained that the book itself served a purpose, so that his mistakes were always there to remind him. To forget them would allow them to be reborn and it was for his own well being.

He knew Connor had spied that book on more then one occasion, his gaze often lingered on it as he considered what text lay deep within its pages. He never said anything, anytime Achilles glanced out of the corner of his eye to catch Connor looking on neither would say anything. Connor's gaze would return to whatever he had been doing and Achilles would continue to write. Achilles had often deliberated on whether or not he should one day allow Connor to examine the books contents, but would it strengthen his resolve or would it undo him?

This question was the reason Achilles kept the book hidden.

His nightmare was still fresh in his mind and it bothered him greatly, he hadn't dreamed of those events in years. There had been nothing to trigger those memories s of late, so why the dream? Perhaps an old lion sensing his end and his conscience decided that he needed reminding of his failures. He touched his hand to his temple, it had been so many years and yet he remembered it like it was yesterday.

His quill was positioned over the blank page as though he intended to tell a great tale, but it hovered, motionless. What would he write? How would he begin? A drop of ink spilled from the quill staining the page and although the ink was black all Achilles could see was red.

The sound of Connor's footsteps pulled him from his task, he welcomed it and flipped to another page and scratched at it with his quill, writing simple things. Connor knocked softly on the doorframe, he didn't have to, the Davenport homestead was just as much his home. The knock was soft, almost remorseful, Achilles could read his student very well, but he did not look up.

"Welcome back. And how was Martinique?"

Connor spoke slowly "Achilles… I… I owe you an apology…" Achilles waved it off as though it was not important, it was deserved. It was easy for him to loose his way and all Connor had done was to remind him of that. Truth hurts. "It was wrong of me to say the things I did…"

Why was it that accepting an apology did not come naturally to either men? Achilles looked up to see an uncertain look plaguing Connor's face. Internal conflict.

"Your words were harsh, Connor, but there was also truth there. I failed the Order. Allowed the Templars to take control…" His own guilt seemingly pushing his head to hang low with shame, maybe it had been Connor's heated words before he left that spawned the dream. He didn't know.

"-But now their hold is weakened, which makes me believe there's a chance for peace. Imagine what we might accomplish if we were to unite." These were strange words indeed, Achilles put down his quill and leaned back in his chair, carefully observing Connor.

"Why the change of heart? Where is this coming from?" Connor turned away as though he had regretted the words he just spoke, it could only be one thing. "You've met your father, haven't you?" Achilles slowly stood making his way to Connor.

Connor sighed heavily and tried to do some damage control "I do not claim to trust the man- or even like him. But I would be remiss to ignore this opportunity."

Connor had a good point, if there was a chance for peace then it was only a small matter of letting go of their pride. "Haytham may listen. But will he understand? And even if he does, will he agree?"

"Even he must admit that we achieve more together then we do alone." True enough. Achilles considered the thought himself knowing full and well what Connor now wished to do. He glanced up to meet Connor's eyes, a soft glint of metal catching the sunlight averting his gaze for a moment until it settled on the source.

"Connor," Achilles stepped closer as Connor turned away, as though he thought Achilles would attempt to stop him or change his mind. "What is that?"

Not the response he had expected and for a moment he was uncertain as to what Achilles was talking about, Connor looked down to his chest, there hanging off of a leather cord was the talisman that Chenoa had given him. "This? A recent acquisition."

There was a spark in Achilles demeanor, something about him changed he reached out for the trinket and held it in his hand, eyes wide. "Connor, who gave you this?"

"An ally." He waved the notion off not thinking anything of Achilles sudden interest.

"Blast it boy! What is her name?" The sudden outburst had startled Connor, he had rarely seen Achilles so easily riled up, apart from the time he embedded that hatchet into the column at his front door.

"A medicine woman entrusted it to me." Achilles now looked as though he were hanging on Connor's every word. "Her name is Chenoa." It was gone. The glint, the spark, dead again.

"Do you know what that is?" He asked, turning his back to Connor placing a hand on his journal glancing out the window. The talisman or the book?

"Your journal?"

"No boy, the trinket you carry!" Achilles had only ever referred to Connor as 'Boy' when he was angry or felt Connor was not paying attention. He glanced down at it again, searching it carefully, but he saw nothing of consequence, nothing special about it. "Nevermind," Achilles paused before changing the subject. "I assume you're off to find him then?"

If Connor was curious about the piece now there was no finding out about it, Achilles changing the subject was something Connor picked up right away on after having first met him. When he spoke no more of it, that was that.

"Yes, I ride for New York to see what might be done." Achilles sat down hands gripping his journal tightly as Connor turned and left, leaving him alone with his memories.

"It can't be…"

OOO

Mystery trinket? Mystery book? Oh! And hey! Everyone loves a wedding! Read and review as always, I'd love to hear your thoughts, questions, whatever. Cheers my lovelies!


	14. A Secret and A Warning

Shiver

The Great Wicked

Many hours after Connor's departure Achilles sat unmoving at his desk the sun had nearly set leaving the house in the dim light. He could not have possibly have seen what he just saw. Yet circumstances did beg to differ, they had never found her body. Or her fathers. Achilles had felt a lightness of heart that he had not felt in years, a glimmer of hope.

Experience had taught Achilles to not expect too much, lest his hopes be disappointed. But it wasn't hope for himself, it was hope to right a past wrong doing. Another story to tell, and someone to help Connor carry one after Achilles departed.

OOO

The events of the wedding soon to be now did little to lift Connor's spirits, he was now miles away from his good friends and the happy chatter going on at the homestead was now but a memory to him. The pouring rain sent chills into the air and was a reminder that the world was a dark and dangerous place. The rain had begun to drip down the tip of his hood brushing his nose before completing its journey to the ground. He looked on at a conversation between some unknown man and Haytham.

Nothing would have made Connor prouder then to take his fathers hand in friendship, and to consider him an ally, but a nagging feeling tore at him whispering that no such events would ever come to pass. It had been a heated conversation, Connor caught the tail end of it as the man took his leave, casting an odd look at Connor.

"We're so close to victory. A few more well-placed attacks and we'll be able to put an end to this civil war and be rid of the Crown." Haytham mused to himself trying not to looked to surprised or pleased to see his son.

"What do you intend?" No sense in exchanging pleasantries.

"Well nothing at the moment- since we're completely in the dark." Gesturing to nothing around him, exaggerating as usual.

"I thought the Templars had eyes and ears everywhere."

"Oh, we did. Until _you_ started cutting them off." Was that a hint of pride in Haytham's voice? No, probably not.

"Your contact said orders from above. It tells us exactly what we need to do: track down the Loyalists commanders." It should have been more uncomfortable discussing these things with his father but not he other hand it did come a little more naturally then to avoid him entirely.

OOO

He watched from a distance as Chenoa worked, she was tireless. Relentless. The spirit of her mother, the patience of her father. They would be proud to see what she had become, of this much he was certain as he looked on. The woman he found as a silent child had grown into a strong woman, he shook his head. How could anyone expect such things from one who was so young?

He longed to go up and speak to her, ask her of her journeys over something hot to eat, but he knew she would have none of it. Chenoa had made it very clear before she left that she desired time to walk the world and figure things out for herself, without his presence. Still he was never too far away, watching from a distance when their paths crossed. A weak smile as he saw bits of her parents in her demeanor, an ability to lead that came from her mother, and the ability to set calm and soothe one's soul from her father. Would they be proud of her? He thought to himself, that given the failures of others, they had to have been.

OOO

Elsewhere Haytham and Connor sat atop a scaffolding to an old building, waiting for their targets to show themselves. The silence was deafening, Connor wanted to say something, anything but knew it would build no bridges between the two of them. What did you say to someone whom you were sworn enemies? These thoughts must have circulated Haytham's mind as well, every few moments he would glance at Connor. It seemed the silence bothered him as well, he did happen to glance the trinket hanging from Connors neck. It hadn't been there before.

"A recent acquisition?" Connor said nothing but glanced at his father debating whether or not to justify his small talk with an answer. "I've never seen it before,"

Connor tucked away the trinket into his shirt, "There is much that you do not know about me, father."

"Indeed," As most father like to annoy their sons, so did Haytham, he further prodded. "A gift from your mentor?"

"No."

"A dear friend perhaps?"

"No." Well this was going nowhere.

"A recent acquaintance?" No reply. "Ah, well, someone such as yourself would never take a gift from just anyone, which makes it by necessity someone very young or, more likely…" He paused to gauge Connor's reaction. "A woman." Again Connor said nothing, no reaction, then his father could not anger him. "Ah, so it is!"

"You know nothing of which you speak."

"Oh, don't I? I was young once too Connor." Haytham replied thinking back to his youth "So who is she?"

"You seek to find details of my life then perhaps you should take a greater interest in it beyond of how I might be useful to you." That hurt, but Haytham was unfazed. "In either case, it is none of your concern."

Haytham now grinned, so he had struck a nerve… Connor made a valid point, however if he would only open his eyes and ask to be freed of his ignorance then they may have discovered much about themselves. Connor's reaction to such claims did nothing to strengthen the relationship between the two and although it was oddly enjoyable to see his son uncomfortable he didn't get the chance to prod further. Their targets had arrived.

Redcoats, six of them huddled together speaking in near whispers

"Have you considered the proposal?"

"I am unconvinced. To reinforce them would leave New York exposed. Its hard enough maintaining order with our current numbers. Cut in half-"

"Yet if we do not join with them, they risk defeat. And then what?"

"Well then they should have come by sea…" Haytham shook his head, tired of their bantering back and forth.

"While they're talking in circles. We'll learn nothing, watching as we are."

"Then what do you propose we do? March in there and demand answers?"

"Well, yes." before Connor could utter a word to stop him Haytham leapt off the scaffolding and to the ground, taking the British by surprise, much to Connors chagrin.

"Ambush!"

"Connor, a little help here?" Connor shook his head before joining him at ground level.

OOO

They did not need to die. A voice in Connor's head screamed over and over, angry at his fathers lack of concern for human life. He voiced this concern to his father whom, like he had expected, brushed it off as though it were nothing. Now they departed to share information with Washington, which Haytham didn't understand. Not that he needed to.

"My enemy is a notion, not a nation." Connor had said, and Haytham had to give him credit, he stood his ground. Connor felt happy to provide a little displeasure at his fathers expense, he was relieved to see Washington, someone he knew he could trust. Or so it seemed.

OOO

There weren't many people who could sneak up on Achilles, but he was one of them. Achilles was now in the secret room downstairs, where he trained Connor when a visitor stood right behind him, watching.

"I must tell him now, surely I must…" Achilles mused outlaid looking upon his old robes that he's worn in his prime. "I must make it right,"

"It has always been your own ability to amuse yourself with the sound of your own voice." Achilles did not need to turn to see who it was, but they had not spoken in years. "The years have not been kind, have they?"

"Oh come now, you don't look that bad old man." He countered throwing back the jest before turning. Although they had joked, there was no mistake to be made, these two men did not like each other.

"You know why I've come?"

"I believe I do."

"Why have you not told the boy?"

"There is nothing to tell." Achilles rationalized.

"Oh, isn't there?" He glared, Achilles had always like his privacy and his secrets even more. "It seems we've both been keeping things, haven't we?"

Achilles stopped at the steps and turned back, he had suspected this visit would come, one day or another.

OOO

Connor had felt such anger only once in his life, as he was dragged away from the burning pile, screaming for his mother. He had never felt such a desire for vengeance, his blood boiled and his usually calm vision was replaced by a seething red-hot hatred. He felt his hands shaking. And now here he stood, at a crossroads with two men that he seemed fated to battle.

His father.

And Commander Washington.

The anger inside him had reached a boiling point and it erupted in the form of a great cry "Enough!" Both men now looked upon Connor as though they had forgotten that he was there. "Who did what and why must wait. My people come first." His father cast a victorious look at Washington before stepping to Connor's side.

"Then lets be off."

"No. You are I are finished." Haytham blinked several times as soon as the words left Connor's mouth. Shock? Or perhaps the first real pang of betrayal? No, it was neither of those things, Connor had made his stand and he was through being a pawn. Through with trying to talk sense into his father, and through with trying to build a bridge.

"Son…" He seemed genuinely hurt, but his words fell on Connor's deaf ears.

"Do you think me so soft that calling me 'son' might change my mind? How long did you sit on this information? Or am I to believe you discovered it now?" Haytham glanced back, but not at Washington, he looked as though he was looking upon his own misdeeds and failures, as a man and as a father. Connor continued, his anger not quite vented. "My mothers blood may stain anthers hands, but Charles Lee is no less a monster, and all he does, he does by your command." Connor turned to leave but not before issuing one final warning. "A warning to you both- choose to follow me or oppose me and I will kill you!"

The skies darkened with clouds and rain began to fall, as though an omen of Connor's anger at being used and misled had come to an end. Washington and Haytham could only look on as a great ally had left them.

OOO

Read and Review!


	15. The Trinket's Tale

Shiver

The Great Wicked

To my reviewers! I'm not meaning to torture you all but if I am then I'm doing something right! Lols, I have actually quite a lot written but I'm just trying to pace myself and the chapters so I don't burn you all out. Hope you all enjoy the fruits of my mental labors!

LurkingLady: I see you stalking me there and I stalk you right back! Nice socks btw.

Leah: Yes I find that as I continue the writing comes more naturally to me and the story is just telling itself! I have been going back and paying attention to the earlier chapters, those spelling errors do sneak past me once I really get going. I will be reposting earlier chapters, so pay attention I may throw in a subtle surprise here or there!

Mer3Girl: I am always inspired to write more after I read your awesome reviews! And since you've all been so curious I've decided to tell you about the trinket... Keep juggling!

OOO

As Connor looked upon his deed he felt a terrible pain, a deep and cutting sorrow. He could think of no greater deception, the last piece he had left, he had been forced to eliminate. Charles Lee's poison ran deeper then Connor had ever thought, the warm crimson life staining his hands slowly grew cold as he watched the life fade from his greatest friend. His last words had tasted sourly of Charles Lee's. Once more Charles Lee was responsible for taking what was most precious to Connor, fists clenched in rage once more he looked up to the sky and let loose a great cry that was heard for miles.

All the pain, all the sorrow, all his anger purged from his body like lightning split the sky.

A moment later the sky fell silent and with the body of his life long friend on the ground before him, slain by his own hand, Connor did something that no one had ever seen. A single, solemn tear cascaded down his cheek and fell upon the earth.

OOO

The usual warmth of the Davenport Manor was not there as Connor returned with a heavy and broken heart. The secret door that lead downstairs was curiously open a voice called to him from downstairs.

"Connor, a moment?"

Truthfully Connor had no desire to listen to a lecture or endure any more questions, but something in Achilles voice told him that speaking later was not an option. He followed the sound of the voice to find two figures cloaked in the darkness, one was Achilles, the other had seemed vaguely familiar but he could not place him.

"What is this?"

"Connor, I must ask you something." Connor nodded as Achilles pointed with his cane to his neck "That trinket, do you know what it is?" Connor sensed that this was indeed very important but he did not know. "Do you know anything of the woman who gave it to you?"

"No." Achilles stepped forward and held out his hand. Connor was at a loss but Achilles wasn't the sort of man to waste time on theatrics.

"May I?" Connor placed it in his hand, hesitant to let go and waited an explanation, "Does this not look familiar at all?" It did but he could not place it, it had been driving Connor mad for quite some time. "Look at it more closely," He gave it back to Connor who studied it for a few moments, starting intently searching for what secrets it may reveal. He found nothing of great consequence other then the idea that he had seen something like it before.

"I see nothing."

"You're not looking hard enough," Connor was in no mood for games and his face conveyed this as his usually calm and detached brow now furrowed in frustration. Achilles nodded, understanding that something heavy was upon Connors shoulders, and while he felt bad for him, this was not something that could be postponed and took the medallion from him and glanced down at it, still having a hard time believing what he was seeing. "Or perhaps, you're looking too hard." He flipped it one hundred and eighty degrees. The trinket that resembled a 'V' was now an unmistakable 'A.'

An 'A' for 'assassin.'

Connors eyes went wide at this simple but profound discovery. "Yes Connor, that is the crest of our order. It comes from the Egyptian Order, it is over two hundred years old. Now, I ask again, what do you know of the woman who gave it to you?"

"Chenoa." He replied, many of his questions about her now taking on a deeper meaning. "She is a colonial woman who dresses and lives as a native."

"Her clothes are that of the Powhatan garb, and she also wears some colonial clothes?" The second man asked, but it was more of a leading question. Connor nodded, the elderly native man sighed. He was old enough to be someone's grandfather. "Long ago, she was the daughter of a powerful ally. And also long ago," He paused and looked to Achilles with a look of poison and resentment, he fought to bite his tongue remembering what was truly at stake "Mistakes were made."

"What was her name?"

The two men were silent as though contemplating on wether or not they should be the ones to answer that question, but after a moment it was Achilles who spoke. "Her name was Constance Howard. She was the daughter of an assassin."

OOO

A very short chapter I know but now you all know a little more then you did a while ago! Building suspense? Lols, read and review!


	16. Hunting

Shiver

The Great Wicked

It stood to reason that Connor now had to get to Chenoa as fast as he could, was she in danger? He had no reason to suspect that she was. From his understanding of the whole situation, there was the distinct possibility that both she did not even know of her heritage and that any potential enemies thought her to be dead. Nonetheless he had a feeling that wherever she was, Connor needed to be there quickly. The conversation in the basement room still fresh in his mind, he had nearly forgotten his own sorrows. He was on his horse, riding hard towards the last place he had seen Chenoa, the small town that was at least a days ride from his current location.

Why this rotten feeling? Why the feeling that something terrible was going to happen?

OOO

The alarm had rung in the wee hours of the morning, with the distant sounds of a rider approaching yelling at the top of his lungs 'To arms!' Once the first few cries had reached the inhabitants the church bell had begun to toll. Its loud and bold clang awakening the rest of the town and then all hell had broken loose. Folks in their night clothes, women and children running and screaming, men grabbing rifles and ushering people to hiding places. Chenoa too had been awoken by the rider having heard the distant call of his first warnings, she too was now helping move the wounded.

The British were coming.

OOO

Trust your instincts. They are always to your credit. Thats what Grandfather had said after he had taken her away. When you are uncertain, trust your instincts. So she did.

OOO

It was barely past sunrise and already a battalion of Redcoats had poured into the small town, locals trying to act as though they were at a loss as to why they were there. There were two men atop horses who looked to be in charge; one a tall who wore the unmistakeable uniform of English Dragoons, Chenoa swallowed hard, watching from a distance. English Dragoons. Known for heir fierce tactics and ruthless nature, the knot in Chenoa's stomach wound itself tighter. The second man was much simpler, he was tall but not nearly as refined as the Dragoon, he had a very tired appearance about him. It seemed as though the man himself seethed poison, and although he wasn't as intimidating as the Dragoons, something about him was dark and dangerous. Not like Connor. His hair was black and tied back in a short ponytail with a receding hairline, his features hard and ragged, his clothes caked with dust and mud from the rains. The two men seemed to be equals as they both sat atop their horses talked calmly of no doubt awful things.

The rest of the Dragoons strode about atop their horses rounding up the townspeople in the large square of the small hamlet. No weapons were drawn but she could see the panic in their eyes and the uncertainty permeated the air, all she could do was watch and wait.

OOO

The two men had finished speaking and the Dragoons had rallied everyone int he square before the Commander had begun to speak.

"We have reason to believe that this town has sheltered a war criminal called Chenoa. She was in custody several months ago and has managed to escape, this woman is most dangerous." Murmurs and whispers erupted from the small mob and far off, Chenoa felt her blood run cold. She had seen that man before.

OOO

The second man begun to speak "She is known to be a con artist who has been poisoning and killing the people that she tends to. There is also word that she has been giving information on British troops and compromising their safety. His majesty King George has offered a substantial reward for her capture."

"Good folk, you are our neighbors and once this rebellion has been squashed and its ringleaders tried and executed we will reestablish commerce and dealings. If you have information of this killers whereabouts, come forward and all will be forgiven." An eerie silence fell over the crowd, not even the tiniest whisper was spoken. Were they considering turning her in? Announcing that just before the Dragoons had arrived that Chenoa had darted off to parts unknown? Were they thinking about the small battalion of men hiding beneath the church, trying to stifle their moans? Were they actually considering his words? Had Chenoa been a wolf in sheeps clothing? For what seemed like an eternity there was only silence and the sound the crackling of lit torches. "Search the town. I want her found." He spoke to his Dragoons. They rode off beginning their search, ripping the town apart.

OOO

A figure several hundred yards away began to approach Chenoa, stepping quietly and taking care not to make a sound. Step by step he inched closer, Chenoa unaware that a presence was upon her was enraptured by what she heard from the Dragoons. The commander, he was one of the men who had interrogated her when she was captured by the Redcoats all those months ago. It seemed like an eternity, but she remembered his voice and the darkness within his eyes.

OOO

The dragoons had dispersed going into the houses, breaking down doors ripping peoples lives apart as all they could do was watch and contemplate. End their own misery by delivering Chenoa to certain doom, or enduring the search and gamble their own lives as well as the lives of the men hiding in the church.

Men with guns and swords storming and yelling orders to leave no stone unturned, it was hard not to be afraid. However as the town seemed slightly rattled, of the two men in charge one; the man with black hair seemed slightly annoyed and the commander of the Dragoons, still. Quiet. Eyes scanning the crowd searching for fear, uncertainty, a weak link to exploit. He seemed to be enjoying the fear that had gripped the community. He liked to watch them.

Within twenty minutes the search had turned up nothing, a soft feeling of relief had settled, the look on the Commanders face however, was oddly unsettling. As though he expected the result, his eyes moved slowly from the crowd to the church. Slowly, cold and calculating.

"Well, it seems that you have not seen this criminal. And if you had seen her you would most certainly have turned her in to the proper authorities, I will take this moment to inform you that if information leads to her capture then you will be rewarded by the Crown." He paused and watched the crowd, eyes widening only softly then a sickly smile came over his face. He turned and spoke to the man at his side before returning his attention to the church having noticed a number of people eyeing it with concern. "However, my information also tells me that this town has given aid to the Colonial regulars…" That sickly smile returned to his face, it made anyone looking at it immediately uncomfortable. "And as a servant of his Majesty King George it is my duty to administer… justice."

Another dragoon rode up with a lit torch, "Sir, we've found no sign of the criminal, however we did find signs that the Colonial Regulars have been through here. There are bloody bandages and uniforms, the blood is still fresh. Ready to fire the town on your command."

"Fire the town? That seems a bit harsh Lieutenant." He glanced behind him. "Fire the church."

OOO

Uh oh… And for those of you who are thinking it let me just say that, yes, I did jack this scene from The Patriot. The character of Commander Tavington, the jackass who causes so much trouble in the film, was actually based on a real man. So I altered the scene slightly. Hope you liked it. Thanks again to my readers, reviewers, followers and favorites.


	17. Amid the Fire and the Flames

Shiver

The Great Wicked

Authors Note: Its recently occurred to me that the title of my story may not make tons of sense given that the 'cold' part of the story has more or less gone and passed. 'Shiver' is actually a song performed by Jamie O'Neal, an Australian Country artist from a few years back, she also did 'No Arizona' if you know the song. I love the song and if you've heard it then hopefully it will set the tone of the story, if not then I have a song or two for you to listen to. All are done by Jamie O'Neal; Shiver and To Be With You. Check them out, hopefully it will give you a better feel for the tone I'm going for.

OOO

Chenoa looked on in horror as the first torch few, and caught the shingles of the roof, it quickly lit and the fire rose up producing thick and heavy black smoke, a promise of lives soon to be lost. Seven dragoons stayed as the rest left, Chenoa watched and wrestled with her conscience. She had to do something. People were going to die. People who were better then herself. Fighting for something. Could she watch them die? No. She could not. She steadied her breathing and tried to force her legs to move but they wouldn't.

She felt a cry in her throat welling up inside her, and she fell to her knees. She was afraid. Her thoughts flashed back to weeks ago when she had been captive of the British, and the cruelties she had endured. She was afraid. Because this time she knew, there would be no one coming to save her.

Somehow amid her fear and uncertainty she stood up.

OOO

Connors eyes widened in fear as he saw the billowing smoke coming from the last place he had seen Chenoa. He had abandoned his horse preferring speed of foot, feeling like he had more control. Somehow he could run faster then the horse being that he knew what was at stake.

OOO

The sound of a twig snapping behind Chenoa produced a sudden gasp, her heart stopped in her chest and she slammed her eyes shut waiting for the inevitable. But it never came. Instead a slashing noise and a muffled gurgle, then a body slumped to the ground. Before she could move a hand clamped over her mouth and an arm over her chest pulled her backwards to the ground. Then a harsh whisper in her ear, a warm, strong and husky voice, familiar. The breath she had been holding was suddenly released, her heart began beating again.

"Chenoa! It is only me." His voice was but a whisper but it was instant comfort. Connor didn't need to say that it was him, Chenoa knew in the instant she heard his voice. She recognized his scent. Warm, earthy like, the leather of his braces and the salt of sweat on his brow. Chenoa nodded slowly and his slowly dropped his hand, brushing his fingertips against her jaw. He released her and slowly she turned seeing the body of a dragoon on the ground his throat slit and his sword in the grass. She hadn't even heard him coming.

Once more, Connor had saved her.

She looked to him in utter amazement, in an instant of need, he had once more been there.

OOO

His blood had run cold in the instant that he had seen her stand and the man stalking up behind her. He had every intention of running to the church thinking it was where she was. But out of the corner of his eye he had seen the unmistakable color of her hair. Then he froze. Whether or not she knew the man was there and was resigned to her fate was anyones guess, but the thought of the dragoons steel running her through, or her at the mercy of anyone in a red coat filled him with anger.

He did not care that he killed a man without perhaps not needing to, in fact there was a small amount of release in the deed. All his anger and fear, gone in that instant. He was beyond relieved to speak to her again, and feel her slump against in him, knowing she was safe.

However he did see the fear in her eyes, when she looked upon the body. The body of the man who had meant to kill her. Then it was gone.

OOO

"Connor!" She threw her arms around him and held on tightly for a moment, then remembering what was happening she pulled back and looked to the now burning church, well ablaze. "The church!"

"It is no concern, we must get away from here!" He debated in a whisper, trying not to give away her location.

"There are injured soldiers hiding beneath it! We cannot leave them!" She was right. If he had the power to save innocents then he had the obligation to do so. "There are seven dragoons remaining, I cannot let those men die!" Connor looked to the church, then back to Chenoa before nodding.

"I will dispatch the dragoons, get to the church and get the wounded out." Before the words had barely left his mouth Connor was gone, moving like a ghost, swift and deadly. There were indeed seven men left to watch the church burn, they looked on completely oblivious to Connors approach.

Chenoa had finally forced her feet to move and she was running towards the back of the church grabbing several able bodied men and gesturing madly to the church. They followed her without question breaking through the rear door and keeping low finally making it to the back of the pulpit.

OOO

The metal handle in the ground was hot from the flames but Chenoa ignored it and sized it pulling with all her strength wrenching the door open, not feeling the harshness of the burn. The soldiers below were beginning to panic at feeling the heat from the fire, and the burn of the smoke as it rapidly consumed the air. They were indeed much relieved to see the familiar faces as they began to pull the wounded from their hiding place.

OOO

There was sudden commotion among the townsfolk at seeing Chenoa dash into the burning church, there was hope. They moved towards the church in a frenzy moving to help their own, the dragoons turned and saw this. It was what the commander had planned. He knew there were men in the basement of the church, he had seen their uniforms and the fear among the people at the torches thrown at the church. The dragoons went to attack.

OOO

The sound of a loud pistol firing multiple times into the air drew their gaze to the horizon and to the man on the horse in the white hood. The remaining dragoons gaze chase trying to run him down. On their horses they followed.

OOO

Really quick, I have the next few chapters already written and I'm more or less trying to space things out, just out of curiosity send me a review if you'd like me to update as soon as I have the next chapter written. Its entirely up to you guys! Read and review!


	18. Mercy

Shiver

The Great Wicked

Woot! 51 reviews, 23 favorites, and 35 followers! You guys are really awesome! I honestly didn't think my story would get this must attention but I'm pleasantly surprised! You guys inspire me to write more and more frequently! Thanks once more everyone! Hope everyone likes whats to come, the story is going to heat up!

OOO

Connor had lead them away.

The church continued to burn as the flames licked and consumed its timber beams seemingly not enough to satisfy the fires hunger. Black smoke billowed into the sky as some of the villagers did their best to douse the flames with buckets of water from the troughs the animals drank from. The men dashed too and from hauling the injured men over their shoulders, trying to escape. The hidden door now ajar as a wave of panic speed faster then the flames themselves.

"Is that all of them?" The pastor cried in horror, both at the lack of concern for human life and the desecration of his church. "Where's the Indian girl? Where is Chenoa?"

"She's gone back inside!" Another cried, and indeed she had. She had gone back into the inferno.

OOO

"I want his head!" One of the dragoons commanded as they reached a wooded clearing with no sign of the man in white. "Fan out! Find him!" As the dragoons spread out and began their search for Connor, another man came into the clearing slightly out of breath as he approached the Commander.

"Sir! One of our scouts has confirmed that the girl has returned. They are pulling men from the fire inside the church." The commander smiled cruelly.

From the height of a tall tree Connor sat perched on its branches watching as the men searched, he felt that white hot anger inside him again once they had mentioned Chenoa. They would endanger so many lives just to find her? He was confused and his anger blinded him.

"Enough! Get back to the town and find the girl, leave word for the man in white when he returns, we have his woman!" Connor had heard enough, he dropped down in silence landed behind the man without even the sound of a snapping twig.

"Why not tell him in person?"

The color drained from the mens face as they heard the voice behind them, the turned and charged.

OOO

Chenoa kept low and tried to avoid the smoke but it found its way to her lungs nonetheless and she fought the black invasion. She was certain that she had seen one more man inside, the smoke was thick and permeated the air. The cellar beneath the church was small and there was not much space to hide but the smoke greatly limited her visibility.

She had called out but heard nothing back and was about to turn and leave when the faint sound of coughing followed by a weak sounding 'wait.' She turned and there in a corner on the ground and there he was, a young man with grievous wounds that had barely healed.

"P… Please wait," Chenoa was at his side instantly and heaved him up over her shoulder

"I have you, can you stand?"

"Yes," he replied leaning heavily on her as she nearly carried him towards the cellar door. The poor lad had tried greatly to stand on his own but he found that the medicine woman was surprisingly strong and was able to carry his weight.

OOO

Connor was driven by something greater then survival but he fought to protect her. His blade swung with a grace and ferocity taking life without even a second glance, the blood of the red coats flew and mist now scattered. Red drops of their blood landing on Connor's perfectly white robes. Eight men had gone into the clearing and yet only one would be leaving. Connor promised himself this.

The commander went first, his throat slit in a spectacular fashion with spray and a drowning gurgle. His second in command went next as Connor leapt into the air with his tomahawk drawn. There was a distinguishable and very loud crack as the blade pierced his skull, the man himself merely stood there for a moment, eyes wide and mouth agape. The soul should had gone but the body was still catching up, his eyes were dead and the image of Connors blood soaked form burned into his mind.

As quickly as one man fell Connor had rushed forward his tomahawk clanging against british steel of the next mans sword. Despite having seen two of his companions struck down in terrible rage it did not seem to shake this mans courage. As a dragoon he was well studied in the art of swordsmanship and did his station a great credit, in blocking many of Connor strikes, however unable to land one of his own. It was not enough however against Connor Kenway.

"Whats the point?" He asked gruffly as Connor dodged another swing, Connor gave no reply but attacked once more. As a rule he did not speak to those he intended to kill if he could avoid it. "Is she worth it? That savage? Is she worth dying for boy?" The sound of a hammer cocking from behind him divided his thoughts, he quickly ducked just as the shot was fired. The bullet lodged in the dragoon before him, his companion having finished Connor's work for him.

"Worth dying for. Worth killing for."

His ears still ringing from the noise Connor sent a sharp sweeping kick to the back of the mans legs, toppling to the ground. Not even a sound escaped his lips as Connor's hidden blade was driven deep into his throat.

Connor quickly stood and turned to face the last three men who looked upon his smugly as though he were a wild animal about to be butchered. They outnumbered him and thusly thought they had the advantage, but they were greatly mistaken, Connor had tapped into something deeper then just the will to come out alive.

They charged at him swords swinging but Connor remained where he stood. Although he was angry he was controlled, and these men while they were military and had training they also allowed their anger to guide them. Fools.

The man on the far left had reached Connor first, Connor stepped to the side and made a grab at the hilt of the mans sword twisting it and using his own blade to run him through. It was a quick death and he fell to the ground lifelessly. His two comrades still thinking they had a chance both swung their blades at once Connor brought his tomahawk up and blocked both of their swords as they crossed over his head. He pushed back with all of his strength throwing both men off balance, the both fell to the ground and not a moment later Connor leapt forward and with a twist of his hands the mans neck snapped.

The last man looked upon the sight of carnage in horror, somehow this wild man had managed to kill his comrades without breaking so much as a sweat and without a word. It was perhaps his silence that frightened him so much, he scrambled to his feet and tried to dash off for his life. Connor made no motion to move, but he rather watched the man stagger a few feet then drew his pistol and fired a single shot. It lodged itself in the mans back and he fell forward with a horrible cry. Connor stalked forward blood dripping from his blades in a predatory fashion, not caring of the fear and the cries of the dying man at his feet.

"P… Please!" The man cried out "Mercy!" Connor stopped and looked upon the man with cold eyes, before once more raising his blade.

"Not today."

OOO

I really dislike writing fight scenes since its so easy to get distracted and write too much or too little, but I do like how that turned out. Finally got a glimpse of the badass killer Connor without mercy. Let me know how I did! Read and review!


	19. A Place of Safety

Shiver

The Great Wicked

With the last man and Chenoa escaping the fires, there were no others and not a soul had been lost, save the dragoons. The fire had grown too great, too wild and there was no saving the church and all that could be done now was to watch it burn. A few people were in tears from the recent terror, the wounded men were preparing to leave so as not to further endanger the village, they left with heavy hearts and with profound guilt. The town had not been burned down and no lives had been lost but the burning of the church had been no less horrifying.

Some of the people kept their distance from Chenoa who sat on the steps of the tavern her clothes singed and her face dotted with soot and smudges. She was deep in thought and no doubt in some type of mental torment. People could have been killed today, and it was all in pursuit of her.

But why?

She watched the uncertainty among the faces of the crowd as they walked around like they were in a dazed sleep. There was so much in the past few months that had happened and she could make no sense of any of it.

There was a relative silence that hung in the air, it felt as though it could be sliced with a knife. Then soft murmurs had begun, whispers and eventually the reason came into view, its was Connor. His robes stained in blood. He looked very different then he had a short time ago. The crowd parted as he made his way to Chenoa who remained largely unaware of his presence.

He stood before her for a full minute before she looked up, there was blood on his face but it was not his own. She saw no trace of the dragoons that had followed him. She knew their fate. How could they have met any other?

"We need to leave this place now." He informed her, something distant in his voice, she knew better that this was not something that was up for discussion. He clearly had something he needed to speak to her about, but not here. "Gather your things, we need to gain as much distance as we can."

OOO

Connor had taken two of the dragoons horses and they had departed without a word to the villagers. For some time they rode in silence, Connor entering a state of contemplation. It was well over an hour before either of them said anything, and it was Connor who spoke.

"You are wounded." He glanced at her arms where blood had begun to spot her clothes, she glanced down and did not seemed concerned.

"It is nothing," She replied having nearly forgotten about the minor burns she had sustained. "It only hurts when I allow it to."

"You allow it to?"

"I think of other things and it lessens." It was a somewhat true, she had a great deal on her mind and with the days events still fresh in her mind the pain seemed not as important. Her horse slowed and eventually fell behind Connors, she could stand the not knowing no longer. "Connor," He stopped and turned to see that she was a good fifteen feet behind him a look of torment and conflict marred her features. "What is going on?"

"I do not know," He waited a moment, trying to be delicate in his answer. Not wanting to convey his suspicions just yet, there was no need to further upset her. "But where we are going now there will be some answers."

"Where is that?

"A place of safety." She scoffed slightly, 'safety' what did that mean coming from a man who killed. She knew she should not have been thinking such thoughts but it was hard to ignore now. Ever since she had met this man misfortune seemed to follow her, was he cursed? Was she?

"Safety? Does an assassin know of such a place?" Connor gave no answer at first, being somewhat taken aback by her words, but the moment she had said them she regretted it deeply. "I am sorry." Chenoa dismounted and walked a few paces rubbing her temples mentally kicking herself. "I travel frequently. I am always on the move, and no one ever glances back at me. There is no reason for them to. I am not the daughter of anyone special, I have never known any other life other then service to others. And since I have met you, people are being threatened, people are dying and it is on my account." Chenoa crouched down and placed her hands in her head as though fighting off some episode within.

Connor knew all too well what she was feeling, he didn't blame her. He felt somewhat useless now, like he should do something to ease her suffering, but what could he do? He approached her and placed a hand on her shoulder, the touch was light and caring.

"Why?" She asked once more. "Why is there so much suffering? And why is it because of me, those men in the church, those people in town, they are forever changed."

"You are not responsible for the actions of other men." Connor answered as best he could and it certainly didn't seem to do much to soothe Chenoa. "I do not know why these events have unfolded but I do believe that with as often as our paths have crossed, we're meant to see them through… Together." Chenoa looked up again and there he was. Connor. Not the man who had returned to the village soaked in the blood of others. It was his eyes that had changed, they were warm again, not cold and distant. Connor had come back to her. He extended his hand to her and helped her stand again, "We will have some answers soon, but in the meantime I must keep you safe."

Chenoa wanted to ask so much, 'why?' But it seemed counter productive. Instead, she let it go, if Connor said there would be answers then she had to believe him and trust him. She nodded and the two returned to their horses and set off once more.

OOO

Getting warmer! Read and Review!


	20. Achilles Tale

Shiver

The Great Wicked

A moment. One where you feel familiar with your surroundings and yet you are certain that you have never been wherever you are before. It was as though Chenoa's soul had traveled and seen many places, normally, to have familiarity should have given her some comfort however to her, however now it was oddly unsettling. She felt as though she had no control over what she was now feeling and for a woman who has made her life on having control over her thoughts and feelings, it was an unwelcome sensation. As they happened upon the Davenport Manor a wave of feeling washed over Chenoa, she felt as though she had seen this place before. It was like a memory from a dream. She said nothing of these feelings, trying to trust in Connor's words, that answers would come.

The house seemed as though it had stood through a hundred storms, like it was waking up from a great slumber. Like a spell had been cast upon it.

For a moment she was hesitant to enter, not wanting to alarm Connor she shrugged it off and entered the house. It was dark and there was no sign of life within its walls, no fire in the hearth no lamps lit, this seemed unusual to Connor as well. He bid her to wait in the foyer and he walked off into one of the front rooms, searching.

"Old man?" He called out, silence his only answer. He lit a lamp and looked back to Chenoa "Wait here." He turned and walked into the darkness.

The house seemed dead, yet that feeling of familiarity still hung over it, she wondered if something terrible had happened here recently. Or perhaps something terrible had happened long ago and it never left. No sign of Connor and not another sound, she took several steps forward searching her mind, pouring over memories trying to place how she knew this dwelling. What secrets did it hold? Where was this 'old man'? Better yet, who was he?

The walls seemed as though they held secrets and all she had to do was ask, but then again walls could not speak. Or could they?

A will that was not her own beckoned her to reach out and touched the walls, feeling the woods hardness and the chipping paint beneath her fingertips. This house had stood for many years, and although it was strange and barren it was made with a great love and devotion. It was not made to stand empty, it was made for someone, and their family.

But its cold emptiness reminded Chenoa of another house like this one that she had seen many years ago, she steeled her thoughts and pushed away the memories. Her fingertips drumming against the wall as she walked further into the foyer. She closed her eyes remembering advice that was once given to her as a child.

_"Sometimes you see more with your eyes closed."_

With her sight gone all there was left was feeling, sound and scent. In the air she could smell dust and papers, age itself. The air was cold and it held no life, no warmth, but she could feel a soft colder air rush over the walls, a draft. She followed the wall, drumming against the wood, listening.

And then she heard it.

The drumming was different. Hollow. She drummed again. Then she rapped her hand against it. The sound was the same. She opened her eyes to find that she now was looking at a panel of the wall, nothing special about it, she glanced around the corner, no one.

The thought of the memory from a dream came back and she felt her eyes drawn to the wall sconce. It seemed, different. She touched the metal and it was cold like everything else, and yet part of the finish where it had once been somewhat shinier, was duller. Not the entire fixture either, but part near the base, it looked as though it had been grasped many times. Her hand settled over the same dull areas and she pulled, a clicking sound followed and a crack appeared in the seam of the wall.

An opening. A hidden door. It seems that walls could speak after all. A gentle push revealed a staircase leading down to a basement, the wind blowing gently seemed to beckon her to enter and she did. Slowly descending, one step at a time, noting how none of them creaked or made a sound at all.

The floor was dark earth and packed down from years of use, despite how the rest of the house looked this room seemed to be used more then the rest of the structure. It looked as though it was a training room of sorts, there were weapons on the walls ranging from pistols and rifles to axes and odd looking darts attached to ropes. Thee were different robes on hangers on the walls, uniforms of some sort, they were all different but kept with a similar theme. Uniforms of some sort?

Chenoa could feel eyes on her and she turned around to see Connor, he gave her a little bit of a start. "The robes of my Order."

"You scared me."

"My appologies." Although he had not expected her to find this room he did not seem very surprised by it. "This is where I was trained." Chenoa gave no response and returned to examining the room and its contents, touching the weapons but not the robes. Her hand stopped just shy of them, feeling as though she should not touch them at all. "Chenoa?"

Her voice was little but a whisper, as though she wasn't really saying it as a statement so much as a question to herself. "I think, I've been here before," She paused feeling uncertain of herself "A very long time ago."

There was a sudden shift a top of the stairs and a voice that called "It was a very long time ago." Chenoa and Connor turned to the source of the sound, the man whom it came from was not very intimidating. His skin was darker then Connor's, a man of African descent and he walked with a cane, had years upon his face, yet he something about him was… hidden. He looked as though his secrets had secrets. He looked at Chenoa is disbelief as though he were looking at a ghost. "I'm surprised you remember, Constance."

Chenoa drew in a startled breath at the mention of that name. "I have not been Constance in many years." The man walked further until he was only a few feet in front of her his expression only grew more mystified once he could clearly see her face.

"My God!" He whispered "Your eyes, they look so much like…" He paused to compose himself "I did not expect that."

"You did not expect what?"

"You have your mothers eyes." Chenoa swallowed a hard lump in her throat, of all the things she expected this was not one of them. This man knew her mother?

"Your mothers eyes, but you have the soul of your father." Another voice called out, Chenoa turned to see a face that she did indeed know very well. _Grandfather_.

"Grandfather." He stepped forward, it had been the native man that Connor had met days earlier, he had looked so angry when Connor had first met him but now his face was soft and warm. A different man entirely. "What is this? Who are you?" She asked gesturing to Achilles.

"My name is Achilles Davenport I was a trusted friend of your mother and father and you have indeed been here before."

"When?" Achilles looked up at the wooden beams and the aged walls with affection before retuning to Chenoa's questioning stare.

"This is the house that you were born in." Her eyes went slightly wider then usual as he answered her question. "I have a tale to tell you Constance, best tuck in." He pulled a chair up and sat down gripping his cane for support, but was it physical or emotional? He nodded to a chair near the table next to which Chenoa stood but she paid it no mind. "I have known your mother since her and I were very young." He saw that she did not sit but decided not to press the issue, once the statement had left his mouth Achilles struggled for a few moments, uncertain of what else to say o where to truly begin. "Do you know what that trinket you entrusted to Connor is?"

"It was my mothers, she died before she could tell me about it."

"It has belonged to the men and women of a Brotherhood. An order." He paused trying not to throw too much at her at once. "It comes from Egypt, and has been passed down from generation to generation. It belong to your mother, your mothers mentor and her mentor before that and now it belongs to you." Chenoa glanced to Connor's chest at the medallion that she had bid him to keep for her, how long had she wondered about the delicate little thing? How many theories did she make up as a child? She didn't know, but now with Achilles pause she wondered, was it something that she truly wanted to know? She had left that life behind her so long ago, was it right to open that door again?

For how torn she was Chenoa could not suppress the desire to know, she deserved it, she rationalized. Achilles was clearly waiting for some kind of reply from her, and Chenoa found that she could not speak, instead she sat down, ignoring the chair and sitting on her knees as she had most of her life, much in the same way she did when Grandfather would tell her stories. Achilles continued his tale.

"The order of which I speak is an order that has stood for hundreds of years, if not thousands. The order of the Assassins." Chenoa did not move, but her eyes gave her away, they were wide in surprise, she nodded for him to continue understanding that the story would only make sense once it was told properly.

"The Egyptian Order of the Assassins. Constance, your mother was an assassin." He paused, but this time Chenoa gave nothing more away, with the shady nature of her mothers secrets this news was not as shocking as it should have been. "I met your mother when we were young, when she first came to this country, she was already an accomplished assassin but to me she spoke of longing for a life free of killing. A life of peace. Your ancestors on your mothers side are Egyptian, as are you. Your father however, was a fine Irish gentleman and a doctor. A trade that I see has been passed on to you."

_Assassins._

"Always listen," Achilles solemnly intoned.

"But never repeat." Chenoa finished her voice barely but a whisper, remembering the words spoken to her as a child.

"On the eve of your eighth birthday your parents began to tell you things, didn't they?" Chenoa could only nod. "They spoke to you in riddles, gave you puzzles to solve, and even your mother must have sang some of the Egyptian Order's lullabies to you, did she not?" Chenoa barely nodded, suddenly whispering the melody to herself, digging deeper. "Your mother was beginning to groom you to perhaps follow in her footsteps, to one day become as an assassin." Although Achilles had just now explained more to her then she had thought possible, she had the feeling that his greatest secret had yet been told. "I was here when you were born, your mother almost didn't make it, she had been very sick and if not for the skills of your father she may have died that day. It was only after she held you in her arms that she confided in me that she felt as though you would be a shining light to many, a guide. One who would lead when others can only follow. It was for this reason that she named you Constance. Constant as the North star."

Achilles continued to speak, talking of her mother and how she was born into a family wrought by tragedy then how the assassins found her and gave her direction. She came to the new world and begun a life as an American with then she met her husband, Chenoa's father, Gabriel. He also told of the age old struggle of the Assassins and the Templars, and although Chenoa knew very little of the tale that Achilles spun there were many questions within her at the moment and one that was most disturbing the more she thought on it. Gradually Achilles slowed his speaking, sensing that Chenoa was becoming overwhelmed. He knew that look of inner conflict and prepared himself for the onslaught of questions that he was sure Chenoa had.

"Chenoa?" She had stood then turned and walked a few paces clasping her hands fidgeting nervously looking at the ground before she looked back at Achilles.

"Where have you been?" It was not quite the question Achilles had anticipated, but he could see how it was a sensible question. There was a moment of silence that fell over the room as Achilles struggled with himself. Connor had never seen Achilles so at a loss for words, he could barely look Chenoa in the eye, his manner was so guilty. The man that Chenoa had called grandfather stood arms crossed over his chest now looking at Achilles as though he were combating a headache. He also looked as though he too was greatly interested in the answer.

"Fallen." He finally replied. "Disgraced." Another pause, his words were heavy as though he were making a confession. "Many years ago, I made a decision and although my life was spared I had failed the order. The Templars took control and spared my life only to watch me suffer as my Order fell into ruin. Our brothers and sisters killed, vanished, scattered to the winds." Achilles briefly thought of Connors words to him before he had departed, what seemed like months ago, they had stung him deeply, because if words were weapons then Connor had stuck a fatal blow. A tense silence now hung in the air, so many things now radiated from Chenoa it was difficult to tell what she was thinking or feeling, but she was able to summon up speech.

"You left us." Her words were cold and very detached, Connor had never heard her speak as such, it didn't suit her. The hurt in her voice, the loneliness and the pain was now clearly evident as she turned to face him now, eyes slightly glassy.

"Yes he did." Eyes were upon Grandfather now, as he answered for Achilles although there had been no question this time. "He abandoned his Order and chose to live in shame and cowardice." Connor felt a heat in his chest now, not liking the way in which Grandfather spoke of Achilles. True enough Achilles had made mistakes but there was no need to deepen the wounds, he sounded as though he wanted to do such, and thus he continued. "He knew of the misfortunes that had fallen upon your family and he did nothing." But in that sentence he had revealed more to Chenoa then she had originally known.

"You knew?" The air of arrogance that Grandfather had was now gone, replaced with guilt of his own, as though he had been caught in a lie, he said nothing. "You knew of my mothers heritage? And her training? And that it could have been my fate as well and you never said anything?" Chenoa paused trying to get a handle on this new information. "How could you not tell me this?" The cold detachment was now gone, replaced by the white hot coals of betrayal that smoldered angrily.

"I had a choice to make when I came upon you, I did what I believed would be best for you." He sounded like he was trying to convince himself of this sudden truth.

"You kept them from me."

"Would you have had me bring you here? To this man who abandoned you and your family?"

"I would have had the option of knowing the truth and making the choice for myself!" The tiniest flames now danced from her lips, "You had no right to deny me the truth of who I was, nor did you have the right to take me away from it!"

"Constance," Achilles spoke trying to calm the room.

"That is not my name!" She shouted cutting Achilles off and silencing them both in a voice that did not feel like her own. "That name and that girl died with her mother." Another silence fell over the room, no one dared say a word, her anger was deserved and she struggled to contain it and to convey the depth of her emotional despair. "I had to listen."

Her fists were no longer clenched and she had steadied her breathing, she was pulling back the veil that separated the now from that horrible day when she felt part of herself die. "She told me not to make a sound no matter what I heard. I heard her screams, I had to listen to them! Her blood dripped down from the chair and soaked the floorboards, I could smell it." Chenoa struggled to calm her voice, yet all she could feel was rage, and all she could remember was that terrible smell. The scent of blood. This was why she did not like to remain long in its presence.

"Chenoa," the voice did not belong to Grandfather or Achilles, it was Connor. He reached out to her cautiously touching her shoulder, trying to give her strength of his own.

"Constance, I understand your anger and although you may feel some resentment towards me, the Assassin Order is still your family." Achilles tested trying not to say anything to anger her further. "Do not let your heart be hardened any longer, we are here for you now."

"What do you know of my heart?" She snapped back viscously "What do you know of suffering other then yours? Either of you?" She pointed to Achilles first "You abandoned me and mine," then she pointed to Grandfather "And you lied to me, kept the truth from me. You had me burn her! I couldn't speak for a year! Family is not capable of such offenses!" She exhaled a shaky breath expelling demons that had long tormented her.

"Constance," She turned back to Achilles who had taken a step towards her and held out her hand to keep them and their words at bay, she looked as though she had relived every horrid day since that first awful night. Desperation written over her face, Achilles had much he wanted to say and no doubt that Grandfather had words for her as well but neither of them dared speak a word.

Chenoa turned and move up the stairs like a ghost, her steps hasty and shaky. Once she reached the top of the stairs and broke into a full sprint out the front door and out into the woods as fast as her feet would carry her. Connor moved to follow her

"Connor, give her time. She needs space."

"She needs time and space from the both of you, grieving alone will only cause her harm. I will not leave her alone." With those words Connor ascended the steps and followed Chenoa.

OOO

At last Chenoa's tale has been told, or has it? But thats just her past, what lies in her and Connor's future? Hope you all like it, SERIOUSLY read and review! I really want to know what you guys think of this part!


	21. Old Wounds

Shiver

The Great Wicked

To my fantastic reviewers you guys keep me going! And a big thanks to those who have favorites and followed my story, I would not have gotten this far without you!

Sari89: Thanks for the review! I have to say I love that a lot was said but not much was really explained, know what I mean? And yes! There is always Connor!

SporkDeMortimer: Nope! No kisses yet! But there was a cute little peck for Connor in Chapter 11, I think. I know, I'm a constant offender when it comes to run on sentences and comma placement! Well, I try. I get so stoked about posting more that I totally blow past it sometimes. Thanks for sticking with me!

Falling-Angel24: Thanks so much for your kind words! I'm glad the you like the story, I love writing Chenoa! I love her character and her story! I do plan to continue in fact I'm also writing another story for the first AC game, its a Malik/OFC and its a working progress as I haven't devoted much time to it. I want to finish with Connor and Chenoa. Anyhow off to write more, thanks again everyone!

OOO

As soon as the whole thing had transpired it was over and Connor had never felt so confused in his life. He felt as though a piece of a puzzle had been dropped into his lap but there was too much cloud cover to see its place in the grand design. The conversation in the secret room had taken a turn that Connor never expected, Chenoa was the daughter of an assassin, and Achilles had just abandoned her like that? It did not sound like the man that Connor knew, but then again, Connor had only known Achilles for a few years, and at the moment he wasn't really even sure that he knew him at all. Achilles revealed very little about himself to Connor, he was a very private man and while Connor deeply respected him he found himself wanting to know more about Achilles' great betrayal. There had to have been more to the story, there just had to be.

Night had fallen and the skies were dark with clouds, you could not even see the stars, but Connor did not need to see the sky to know it would be only moments before the bottom fell out. His keen eyes scanned the woods for Chenoa but he saw nothing. He had to remind himself that although her skin was that of a colonial woman, she had lived her life very much the Connor had lived his. If she did not want to be found, she knew exactly what to do and what not to do to avoid detection.

His years of tracking served him very well as he caught sight of foot prints, small footprints. He studied them for a moment. They were confused and frantic. A few steps in one direction before doubling back and going another. Then a few more steps and back again. He knew very well that these belonged to Chenoa, she was upset and in an area that was not familiar to her. In a small area of four feet squared he counted at least three dozen individual footprints. Following their patterns he retraced her steps and looked out into the woods, they moved off of the trail and he could see where she had stepped through the brush and on plants in haste.

It seemed that regardless of the knowledge she had to avoid detection she was blinded and no longer cared about remaining hidden. Connor knew that feeling all too well. Wanting to run. As fast as he could in whatever the path of least resistance, to be as far from another human being as possible. For a moment he paused, wondering if he should leave her be, maybe Achilles had a point. Maybe she did need time and space. He considered it carefully before making up his mind.

Even though at the moment of his mothers death and the death of his closest friend what Connor wanted wasn't to be alone, not truly or completely but to feel comfort of some sort. He took a step forward and followed her trail just as the rain began to fall.

OOO

Chenoa had no idea where she was or how far she had run, her lungs burned and legs were shaking, yet she wanted to run until she could not. There was so much on her mind, a deep pain that she thought had sealed itself long ago was now ripped open. Exposed to the elements. Her heart was now beating fast and she felt herself running out of air. She ran until she was stumbling, her feet not obeying her, she lost her footing and then slid down a ravine. And there she stayed for a moment, no longer having the will to pull herself out or to push herself to run any longer.

Breathing the fire out of her lungs and trying to calm herself, but she found that she could not. Her breath was ragged and deep, uncontrolled, panicked, and yet she felt as though she could not breathe at all, as though she were being smothered. There was no steadying this torrent, no slowing it down. All the years she had tried to run from what had happened, all those years that she had hoped that someone would be held responsible for her misery. She felt as though while she was in that basement she was standing over a great chasm with no one holding her back, no one to pull her back and all she could do was fall.

There were no tears at first, just the sound of her cries as she finally allowed herself the grief that she was denied. Deep and painful breaths that did nothing to alleviate the suffering that she felt. The betrayal.

Off in the distance thunder rolled and the skies opened up and the rain began to fall, as though it were crying for her. Chenoa pulled herself up and looked up into the sky, drops falling on her face, the water cold against her hot skin. And for a few moments she simply stood there letting the rain drench her to the bone. Listening to the sound of her own breathing as it gradually slowed. Then, and only then did her own tears begin to fall, mixing with the gentle caresses of the drops as though the rain stroked her cheeks and promised to hide her secret.

While a great wrongdoing had been done to her, there was a moment when she knew she should not feel truly alone anymore, but then Chenoa felt a familiar darkness creeping in on her. She felt the ache of old wounds, she felt like a small child, lost and more alone now then ever before. The unspeakable agony and anger welling up within her that had been trapped for the last ten years was finally released in the form of an earth shattering scream that pierced the night and made the thunder itself a quiet echo. She then allowed herself to slump forward, exhausted.

OOO

Achilles sat down gripping his cane, head bowed in regret. He had never felt so ashamed. At that moment he did not feel worthy to call himself an assassin, nor did he feel that he even had the right to look Chenoa in the eye and apologize or to even beg for forgiveness. While his years of loneliness had built high and thick walls around his heart, in that one instance that he saw the look of heartbreak in Chenoa's eyes, they came crashing down upon him.

But he would not cry, he did not deserve those tears. Achilles who was always a strong and determined man now felt empty inside, he had nothing he could do or say that would ever make things right. Chenoa was right, in his own moment of weakness he had disgraced his beloved Order and the Creed. In his own moment of weakness he had condemned Chenoa to a life of pain, loneliness and despair. He did not deserve to speak to her, but he wasn't alone in his grief.

Across the room Grandfather stood with his arms folded over his chest staring hard into the dirt floor, perhaps he felt just as ashamed as Achilles and felt that there would be no judging glare from the floor. He had loved Chenoa from the day he laid eyes on her, he had seen in her the family that he, himself had lost so long ago. And even though she was a healer by withholding the truth he had wounded her more deeply then any blade.

He had only wanted to protect her from the life her mother had struggled with, was that so horrible? Perhaps, but the simple truth was that he had no right to make the decision for her. Even with as bitter as her was with Achilles abandonment of her family he glanced across at the old assassin and knew that he was just as guilty as he was. He could yell and stomp as much as he liked, but the truth was clear, they had both betrayed her and her parents. What mattered now was not who's failure was greater but how they would begin to make it right. He and Achilles locked eyes and neither of them had the slightest idea of how it could be done, or even if it could be done.

OOO

The sound of the scream made his blood run ice cold, he knew that sound. It was the sound his heart made for the two most important people he knew were taken from him, he ran with a renewed spirit, feeling something greater guide him. Within moments he was looking down on her, the rain poured and yet she did not move, trapped by grief. He waited for a moment, still a little uncertain as to whether or not he should have gone after her but her soaked form wracked with sobs quieted those doubts.

He could feel the heartache radiating from her, it felt as though it was a deep maelstrom that was dragging her down to its unknown depths. He descended into the ravine and stood behind her for a moment, wanting to say something, wanting to do something but he had not the slightest idea of what. He wanted to comfort her, but Connor was never really all that good with words or women for that matter, yet Chenoa wasn't just any woman, at that moment he felt a connection to her deeper then any he'd ever had with any other woman before. She did not seem to notice his presence until he wordlessly he slipped off his coat and placed it over her shoulders bringing the hood up, shielding her from the rain. She still did not move, she looked just as lifeless as the day he had rescued her from the Redcoats. He wondered if he was too late to be of any help at all, but then as though she were thanking him, she gripped the jacket tightly around her, feeling its warmth.

The deep hood with its beak suited her, but not in the way it suited Connor. If he wore it he was an assassin, a reaper of men and a bringer of death. However, on Chenoa it presented the look and feel of an messenger or a divine being. An angel. Although she said not one word, he felt as though he did lift her spirits somewhat, he crouched down and sat with her in the rain, searching for something to say, wishing he had some advice to ease her suffering. He could hardly believe the words he blurted out instead:

"I found my mother trapped under burning debris when my village was attacked. I wanted to save her, but she sent me away." He had just said it, somewhat horrified that he was talking about himself, but as the words settled he felt it was his mother guiding him. Chenoa looked up a little bit, so he continued. "Before I was pulled away my mother said to me 'Ratonhnhaké:ton, You must be strong. You must be brave. You will think yourself alone but know that I will always be at your side. Always and forever'." As Connor finished his story he suddenly felt very vulnerable and confused. He didn't know why he had shared that memory with Chenoa he didn't like the feeling of vulnerability, he felt as though he were a child again. He couldn't help but wonder if his words in any way had in any way reached Chenoa, so he remained silent and sat by her side.

OOO

In that moment when Connor shared what may have been his most intimate memory with Chenoa the deep sting within her, stung a little less and she felt a connection between their spirits. She had never known anything about Connor or his life, and until now not even his true name. His words had been laden with sorrow and grief, and although she did not know anything more of him Chenoa felt the ache that Connor must have felt, having lost her own mother in a similar way. She had not expected anyone to follow her once she left the house but here now with Connor by her side, she was glad he did. She knew him a little better now, and his presence brought a little comfort and the feeling of safety that she felt when he was near.

Chenoa closed her weary eyes and listened. Listened to what the spirits around her were saying, spirits of the earth, the water, the sky, waiting for them to guide her in what to do next. It was the sky that spoke first, as the rain stopped falling, then the wind itself seemed to push her closer to him. The spirits were speaking to her.

"Ratonhnhaké:ton…" She said softly, echoing his name. It fit him properly. He looked up as she said it, perhaps now aware of the fact that she knew his name. He glanced at Chenoa out of the corner of his eye waiting.

"Constance." He repeated her own name hoping that it would rouse her, but it did not. Silence once more. "Chenoa." He corrected himself, she finally turned to face him, she looked a mess. Heartache marring her features, her eyes bloodshot and her cheeks stained in rain, dirt and tears.

OOO

So what does everyone think? Read and review, I have a feeling that Chenoa will start telling us about herself very soon! … Of course I have that feeling.


	22. Chenoa's Tale

Shiver

The Great Wicked

"Something was in the stables." Chenoa finally spoke once more, wanting to say something to Connor to tell him how grateful she was for his words and his presence. But instead she began a story that no one had ever heard. She regretted her words instantly but felt that there was nothing that could be done now, so she too continued. "It woke us from our sleep, the horses. They were panicked, I waited for mother. Moments later she burst through the door and pulled open a secret hatch and told me to be quiet no matter what I heard."

OOO

_The night had been still and eventless, mother had sent me off to bed once supper was finished. I was an obedient child and as I finished my evening chores and kissed my mother goodnight before retiring, like a good child. It was with a sense of peace that I had laid my head down and passed through the veil of consciousness and to the world of dreams, I fell._

_I was awoken in the wee hours of the morning, or perhaps it was night, there was no light through my window, nor did it come from the crease of my door from the hearth. Mother must have gone to bed as well. Although there was no storm outside and the skies were clear there was something so loud and frightening that it shook our finest horses and out from the stables they fled. _

_I heard them, their terrified whinnies as they disappeared into the night, the sounds passed into my dreams, stirring me. But it was my mother throwing my door open and slamming it shut that fully awoke me. I was greatly surprise through my sleepy haze not yet afraid. She turned to me before pulling a chair up to the handle of the door, stopping it from opening._

_"Constance! Quickly, hide!" She pulled me from the warmth of my bed to the corner where there was a hidden door, she wrenched the door open. "You must hide Constance! Make not a sound no matter what you hear, do you understand me?" I was afraid, having never seen my mother so rattled, I nodded, hoping for an explanation, but I received none. My mother kissed my forehead before speaking her last words "I have loved you always my star and I always will. I am with you here." She touched her hand to my heart and pushed me into the space before slamming the door. _

_I never saw my mother alive again. _

OOO

"I never saw my mother alive again. I never knew what horrible agonies she endured, all the time refusing to speak as to where I was or my father was." Chenoa's words were familiar, it was a story of heartache Connor knew too well. The ache that he carried now stung more, for her loss. Yet he felt there was more to this tale. Chenoa shuddered as the memory washed over her, she could not control it, she felt weak and exposed. Connor silently placed a hand over hers and she continued her tale.

OOO

_I will never know how long I sat in the darkness, nor do I know at what point my mothers screams finally stopped. I do remember that it was during these horrible moments when I developed my dislike for the scent of blood. It was an awful smell and my greatest torment was that since that moment I have never smelled the scent of blood that strongly. How much of her blood must those men must have spilled? Even in my work as a medicine woman I have seen the atrocities that men can inflict on one another but never have I encountered that much blood. _

_Once the screams had ceased and the night was once more silent and eventless, I waited. After much time I shoved the door open, it was heavy, my night table had been tossed aside. My room pulled apart. There was signs of a terrible struggle, I was afraid. _

_I called out to my mother, but I was answered only by silence. I reached the door and for a moment I believed that if I did not open it, then I could not find what I knew would be there. But such things are the hopes of children, foolish. I will never forget the blood. The walls were red from floor to the ceiling, and in the corner was mothers chair, turned away. The warmth that I loved of my home was gone._

OOO

Grandfather sat before the fire and continued Chenoa's story while Achilles stoked the flames with his cane. He had seen the smoldering remains of Constance's house not long after the events and his eye had told him from the charred remains of her mother had no doubt endured hours of pain and torture. But he had no idea of the horrors that Constance had to endure in the wake of her mothers death, his heart ached and his despair grew deeper.

"Continue." He said to Grandfather as he sat down once more and waited the end of the story.

"There is not much else to tell." Grandfather replied looking into the flames. "I do not know how long she sat there before her mothers body, I found her sitting against the wall, rocking herself, unreachable."

OOO

_I came upon her, she sat alone, and without spirit. Without life. This poor child whom I had known since I have known her father looked as though she too were dead inside. I approached her, but I dared not look upon her mother. Her eyes were locked in place and although I shook her she did not react, it was at this moment that I made the decision to save her from that life. On the floor next to her mothers foot was the necklace, the crest of her mothers order. I took it and placed it in her hand._

_"Constance!" She finally looked at me as though I were a ghost. _

_"Mother…" She replied pointing to her mother, but I would not hear of it. I shook her and spoke harshly._

_"Constance! This place is not your home any longer!" I regret the harshness of my voice but I had to save her. "This place is just a building now. It is empty, do you understand me?" She nodded slowly "You must help me with this then we will leave this place. I have to keep you safe now."_

OOO

"I had her burn her home. To bid that life farewell and to journey with me, that she may be safe. It was not my intention to deceive."

"Only to protect." Achilles finished, understanding why Grandfather had done what he had done. He did not hold anything against him, it was what Achilles should have done in the first place.

"I bid her to take a new name, one that would bring a new life to her. A life that would be devoid of suffering, it is what I had wanted for her. I called her Chenoa, the Dove. A bringer of peace."

"And what of her father?"

"I know not. Chenoa never spoke of him after I bid her to burn her home to the ground." At this Achilles looked up in shock, he had not known that Grandfather had Chenoa burn her home to the ground. "It was the only way to end that life for her." Grandfather paused "I know it was hard on her. For after those evens she did not speak for a year. She learned the tongue of my people and many others. It was her mourning. And once it was done she spoke the words of my people and was born anew as Chenoa. My granddaughter."

OOO

Chenoa finished her tale, the skies were still dark and there was no light to be found anywhere, the thick canopy of trees obscuring the stars and the moon. Connor was uncertain as to what to say, he had never been much for words but now at the moment when he felt words were needed he could find none.

Chenoa's eyes were red and she was tired and ached from the days events, and all the evens that had lead up to them. An endless chain of sadness, Connor greatly wished to give her some light to to guide her but he could again think of nothing to be said.

Chenoa was now silent, her story had been told and now she felt as though there was nothing left to say. And she was indeed right. There could be nothing said that could end this story with any light. So instead he would show her. Connor stood up and offered his hand to Chenoa, she looked up to Connor with weary eyes, there were no more questions. There was no more desire to know the unknown.

She had seen him standing like this once before, in the longhouse, when she felt herself slipping away. He offered his hand to her then as well but she had not taken it. Wordlessly she stood up and took his hand, in the longhouse she greatly desired to take his hand and follow him but something held her back. Was it their own secrets and tales? She didn't know but this time when he offered his hand she had to take it and follow.

OOO

Another chapter down, hope you guys liked it. Poor, poor Chenoa, I feel like such a bad person for creating these characters who have these really appalling stories and lives.** Well anyhow things are getting more interesting here, that said to build a little drama I will not be posting the next chapter until I get at least five reviews, I know.** I'm so mean, in the words of Bugs Bunny "Ain't I a stinker?"


	23. Faith and Falling

Shiver

The Great Wicked

Authors Note: Being that I have had very little luck in finding translations for Virginia Algonquian language and I don't want to piss anyone off, I've decided that I won't be using translations for Chenoa's words. Instead when her words are in _Italics _you'll just have to imagine that she's speaking Powhatan.

Lexie: Thanks for stumbling on my story, I'm glad you like it! I know, I know, its rough going for a bit here, but hey its darkest before the dawn, right? And by 'dawn' I mean Connor, lols. Keep reading! After all there's a wedding soon!

Snopes: I was really trying to find some way to tell her backstory that didn't feel like she was just saying it, know what I mean? I do like how it turned out, horribly sad but hey, thats what Connor is there for. Thanks!

Assassin's Creed BAMF: I know I'm horribly guilty when it comes to short chapters, but its building you up, isn't it? I know I'm so mean, but now all the bad news has been told its time for some longer chapters… After this one.

SporkDeMortimer: The sorrow is pretty heavy, I know but hey once you hit rock bottom the only place to go is up, right? Don't worry good things are coming! Promise! Not to mention Connor and Chenoa goodness, thanks for sticking with it!

The Fox Familiar: Thanks so much! I'm glad you like it! I've had a few people tell me that my character is somehow different form other OCs and I have to say that its one of the best compliments a writer can have, so thanks for that! It makes my day, it really does! Thanks for reading!

Thanks to my readers, reviewers, favorites and followers! I know its hellishly depressing for a bit but I promise, good things are coming! Thanks for sticking with me everyone!

OOO

Chenoa asked no questions of Connor, and he said nothing to her as he lead her. Her own hand enclosed within his, the pads on her fingertips brushing against his calloused palm, oddly comforting. It was still difficult to see anything under the cover of the canopy of trees and it was dark but Connor stepped with confidence and he knew exactly where he was going. The mood wasn't as tense anymore and as she walked with Connor she felt calm and collected, as though him guiding her was natural. It was where they were meant to be.

His grip was firm and protective, his hands callused and rough yet he didn't cause her discomfort or crush her hand. It was hard to believe that those hands had taken lives, taken lives that threatened hers. Yet at this moment, there was nothing threatening about him and she felt safe once more.

OOO

They didn't walk very long, but they were making a bit of a hike, the gaps between the trees grew wider and the cold crisp air rushed up to greet them. Finally they entered into a clearing area where there was a steep cliff that overlooked the entire forest. The moon illuminated the night and the stars shone brightly, Chenoa could see for miles, the sight of nothing but wilderness brought back a sense of calm that she had not felt in weeks. She felt a little more of herself, she could smell pine from the trees and clean rain wash over her. Awakening her senses once more, the Earth speaking to her again, easing her sorrows. Warming her with the familiar, or was that Connor's presence?

Chenoa pushed the hood back and stepped forward letting the breeze rustle her clothes, feeling the chill on her skin against her wet apparel. All was not right in the world and Chenoa still had many questions that were unanswered, many things that she was still very confused about. However for a moment, for this moment there was nothing else but the wilderness, the night and Connor.

Connor. Ratonhnhaké:ton.

His true name, she liked it. It sounded rough and stoic, like Connor himself. Here among the stars and the trees, although she had known him for some time now she now felt that she truly saw him. She turned to face him, and there he was. Not expecting anything, not saying anything, but just there. A comforting presence. But just that, a presence. He released her hand and crouched at the cliffs edge taking hold of a small stone and tossing it into the vastness, a childish antic.

"I came here many times during my early days of training with Achilles." He stood and stepped back so he was by her side. "To clear my head and to think." He had brought her to one of his 'secret' places, just when she felt that she understood this man a little more he did something unexpected.

Chenoa found herself starring at him again, this time she didn't care if he saw. She had rarely developed connections with people other then her own due to her nature to wander, there had been no one to hold her interest, until now. Here in the night Chenoa looked deeply into Connor, taking note of his features once more as she had when they first met, what seemed like ages ago. The soft cooper tone of his skin, the deep bronze pools of his eyes, the odd little scar upon his cheek that she had once kissed. Her gaze trailed to his lips, pressed into their usually expressionless line, inviting. She felt herself blush softly, there was no denying it or getting around it, Connor was a very attractive man, who had saved her time and time again. Why was it that she always felt as though he was saving her? Why that she always felt weak and helpless when under his gaze? Connor had said to her that he felt that their paths had crossed again and again for a reason, that they were meant to see these things through together. Was that such a terrible thing? Not at all.

_"Who are you?" _She spoke in her Powhatan tongue, Connor tilted his head in confusion, not knowing her words, yet he did not bother to suppress the chill of pleasure he felt at hearing her speak those words. True he had no idea what she had said, but the way the words rolled off her tongue, the words of a people like his own reminded him once more, what a foreign, mysterious creature she was. "I do not understand," She said to him shaking her head and once more feeling weak and helpless.

"You do not understand what?" Chenoa took a step closer to Connor trying to gauge his reaction, he remained still not concerned with her closeness. The hard expression that usually graced his face was replaced by one of softness, concern.

"How you can be one of most important people in my life and yet I know almost nothing about you. Except that your life is just as plagued by sadness as my own. Who are you Ratonhnhaké:ton? Tell me of your people, teach me your ways." She spoke his name again, and he felt an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach, he swallowed hard. What was it about this woman that undid him? Confounded him?

He had known from the moment that he met her that there was something indeed different about her, special. And even after he had left her time and time again he could not help but think of her constantly. Those deep green eyes beckoning him closer to see how deep they were, the fierce color of her hair that warned not to get too close lest he be burned by its flare. The softness of her form that he had once felt against to his own, that night in the cavern, it wasn't all that long ago was it? Again he felt conflicted, not about his place in this war, or the forming of this new nation but his place with her. Sometimes he would wake in the night convinced that she had only been a dream, yet here she stood next to him, very real.

"I admit that I do not understand why these events have unfolded but if I have learned anything it is simply that things happen. It may not be for any reason or it could be fate. You must overcome these obstacles or be buried beneath them." Chenoa was speechless, his words were so simple yet so very profound, here was a man who had known tragedy and sadness yet he refused to let it bury him. And he was right, from the horrible day that Chenoa had heard her mothers death she had been a fighter. She had refused to let herself die with her, instead she forged a new life, a new name and found her place among her people. Although the events of the last twenty four hours were confusing and made her heart ache, Chenoa knew that somehow it would pass. How had she forgotten that? A moment later Connor lifted the hood up over her head and he lifted her arms out as though they were wings. "And you must have faith." He spoke next to her ear, looking out over the ledge, guiding her steps forward, with one arm about her waist and the other clasping her right hand in his own.

The sound of his voice and the warmth of his breath against her skin had made her blush once more. Connor looked out at the wilderness waiting for something, he wasn't sure what. Chenoa turned her head to the source of the husky whisper against her ear and found Connor looking out yet his eyes on her. In that instant the small space between the two of them vanished as her lips met his in a soft and deep kiss. He was warm and inviting and smelled of smoke and the night, his presence powerful and commanding. Protective.

Chenoa in comparison was warm, weightless against him and on her lips Connor could taste the rain that had caressed her face, hiding her tears. Their eyes both closed as though in a heated dance Connor guided her steps forward and together they leapt off the ledge and fell.

OOO

I know its was short but the last chapter I posted seemed super long and I like these little imitate moments between the two of them to be somewhat few and far between. Read and review everyone, especially review!


	24. The Wolves

Shiver

The Great Wicked

Shiver

The Great Wicked

Chenoa lay on her back looking up at the sky, heart thundering in her chest so loud that she thought it might break through. Her eyes were open wide and her breathing shallow, but not due to fear. Connor had guided her off the ledge and they fell together, landing softly onto a pile of branches and boughs. The thought of dying was far from Chenoa's mind, she had never felt so alive, to feel the rush of the wind, to touch the sky and the earth in a way that she had never before felt. To hold that one moment before it slipped away.

Connor lay beneath her seemingly content on his back with Chenoa startling him, hands tangled in her hair, chest heaving, and a look in his eyes that Chenoa had never seen before. For a moment neither of them moved, perhaps afraid that the whole thing had been some elaborate dream and that if they moved or spoke the illusion would be shattered but as the moments passed this did not happen. The dark pools that warmed her whenever she looked into them now held something darker, good or bad she couldn't say. She didn't have long to ponder it either, the hand that was tangled in her hair had slipped to the back of her neck and it gently guided her to him again.

Connor felt as though a thousand voices within him were all screaming for something, yet the noise was so loud that he could not make out what it was that they demanded. His only concern was with the distance between them, the chaste brushing of lips accommodating this concern, silencing it. Each time the experience was something different, first the scent of rain, then the salt of bitter tears, the feel of her hair slipping through his fingers, a second sight guiding him while his eyes closed, and the gentle sound of Chenoa's whimper. The sound stung his ears for a moment then sent chills down his spine, it was the sound of release and surrender, he wanted to pull her closer and ease her pain. Somehow feeling that if he held her tight enough and kissed her deeply enough then the pain would leave her. He could protect her from it.

Chenoa was no stranger to the antics of men that were interested in her, they saw her as something exotic and wild to be tamed. They stepped cautiously around her, feeling a fragility about her but it was far from the truth, Connor did not treat her as though she were made of glass. He didn't ask anything of her, he didn't take from her, he guided her. There was something in this behavior that made it so that Chenoa could rarely take her eyes off of him, all of his movements and actions seemed instinctual, not rehearsed like many men. Connor lead when so many others stood shaking in their boots, he had come to save her whenever it seemed that she was in need of saving. Once more the saintly brushing of lips, eager to taste her again becoming only slightly more forceful as though a prelude of what had been on Connor's mind since that night in the cavern. Chenoa offered no resistance but fell into his arms eager for his closeness, her own hand threaded in his charcoal hair, grazing his scalp, he made no effort to suppress the shudder.

Connor had never kissed a woman or ever really thought of one before, yet for once he didn't feel awkward, or uncomfortable. There had been boys in his village who had a more interests in the girls and among boys talk out in the words, more then a few bragged about their conquests. Connor had never thought for a moment that he'd ever put any of that information to use. That was until the moment where he opened his eyes and found himself laying in the same place where he made his first leap of faith, on his back with a beautiful woman startling him, lips pressed against his in a heated passion. Yet, even as he now had a moment to put the information to use he couldn't remember any of it, Chenoa's soft lips fogging his mind. If his mind was foggy at the moment it was now plunged into the deepest night the moment he felt Chenoa's tongue against his own lips. He pulled back in shock, no doubt startling her, eyes wide looking back at Chenoa.

Chenoa stuttered for a moment trying to form words but she trembled and fell over her words, however even if she had been able to form any they would have been cut short by Connor. He didn't pulled her down gently this time, one hand on her lower back mouth hungry on hers again, mimicking what she had started. Shocked at the creature Chenoa was, her forwardness, inciting a soft feral growl.

At that moment, limbs tangled and lips crushed against one another the silence of the night was cut by a very real, very dangerous growl, this time it did not come from Connor. Summoning his strength Connor wrenched his mouth away from Chenoa and in a quick move rolled the two of them away, changing positions with her. Now pressed hard against the ground his finger to her lips to ensure quiet he searched the night with his keen eyes.

In the darkness Connor saw two pairs of eyes, gleaming in the night. The silhouetted figures that the eyes belonged to came into view, they walked on four legs, covered in dark fur, ears perked up, listening. Wolves.

Chenoa drew in a shaky breath, feeling the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. Connors grip on her now was like iron, yet he did not shake, he was not afraid. The wolves looked at the two of them eyes shining, the second wolf came into view now. Chenoa wanted to jump up and run but Connor held her steadfast against him, unmoving. His gaze on the wolves, there was no fear on his face, in fact he acted as though the whole thing was normal, there was even the tiniest smirk on his face. He brought a hand up to her mouth to silence her, and he pointed to the wolves. There was nothing aggressive about them, they were looking on in interest and curiosity, not defensive.

OOO

Achilles and Grandfather sat in the darkness of the Davenport manor, in silence, the embers of the fire dying. Grandfather had shared a story with Achilles of how he had come to find Chenoa and now it was Achilles turn to tell Grandfather a tale.

"The French and Indian war had taken its tole on us." He began wearily, rubbing his temples as though anticipated the headache that would come. "We were all but decimated Weakened, fighting two wars. We had lost many," his voice trailed off in shame and sadness as he had not thought of these events in many years. "While we had done our part in creating alliances and building the order, we spread ourselves too thin and the Templars had grown more powerful. They found me."

There was no condescending looks or snide remarks from Grandfather this time, he took no pleasure in Achilles failures or pain. It seemed that both men now understood that though neither of them was better or worse then the other. They had both failed. Both had done damage to the ones and the things that they cared for, so all that was left was to begin mending what could be mended and to do that, both needed to know exactly what had happened that lead Achilles to give up.

"They spared my life, confident that I was no longer a threat, they called it 'mercy.' They allowed me to live if I resigned in my role as an assassin." The Davenport manor had been the stronghold of the assassin order, and as the order fell into disrepair, so too had been the fate of the manor. Now more of an empty shell.

"But it seems that you have not completely forsaken the Brotherhood." Grandfather posed, now referring to Connor. "You still keep many secrets from the boy."

"That is for my own well-being. He does not need to be burdened with such knowledge."

"You are still a foolish old man." Achilles looked up in anger at Grandfather now, how dare he? He stood slowly knuckles turning pale gripping his cane. "Who do you think will continue this Brotherhood? This way of life?" Grandfather pointed to the fire's dying embers "Do you plan to live forever?" Achilles searched for his meaning as he looked to the dying fire, thinking of his remaining years. "It is in them, it is in Ratonhnhaké:ton and Chenoa that this place will continue. We have both made our mistakes, and neither of us can afford to sit and wallow in pity and secrets."

Achilles felt his anger dissipating, he knew Grandfather was right. Perhaps it had been the thought that Connor would always be the student and never the master, theta kept Achilles from telling him his secrets. He nodded and sat back down.

"You must tear down the walls, Achilles." He nodded, but where would he begin?

OOO

With Connor calm and collected Chenoa relaxed against him and rested her head against his chest, watching the wolves.

"They will not hurt us?"

"No, we are no threat to them. He has greater things to worry about." Connor now looked on with a sense of childlike wonder dancing in his eyes, it suited him.

"He?"

"Yes, I call him Ehnita." Connor replied, hand now settling against the flat of Chenoa's back.

"What does it mean?"

"Moon." Chenoa now felt calmer, she watched as the wolves disappeared into the darkness continuing on their path. "He is very protective of her."

"Her? The other wolf?" Connor nodded. "How do you know they are the same wolves? Could he not have found another mate?"

"Not likely."

"Why is that?" Connor turned to face Chenoa now running a finger along her jaw

"Because wolves mate for life."

OOO

Another short chapter, sorry guys I've been pretty busy lately, lots of things going on in my life right now. That and I had a hard time writing that last one, its an odd little scene I think, but I do like how it turned out. A big thanks to my readers, reviewers, favorites and followers! Also a really big thanks to my fellow writer Wolf's Avarice for a shout out in her own fanfiction, check it out its a great story following Edward Kenway. As if badassery didn't already un in the family eh? Read her story and send her some reviews! Poison and Wine!

s/9130230/1/Poison-and-Wine

Thanks once more everyone!


	25. A Debt

Shiver

The Great Wicked

Achilles did not sleep that night, instead, after sharing stories with Grandfather a silence had settled over the house, all that needed to be told had been told. What Achilles now needed was solitude, time to reflect and time to think, he had bared his sins and failures and he was drained from it. He was tired and weary yet felt as though he did not deserve rest, not as long as Chenoa was in the wind. He could not forget the look on her face when he had told her of her mother, and her heritage. He watched as the color drained from her face, the warmth left her cheeks, making her look hollow inside. He saw her white knuckles and her fists clenched in unspeakable anger, he knew that anger. He had felt it when his wife and son had passed away.

Where was Chenoa now? Was she coming back? Had Connor managed to find her? Had he even helped at all? Would Connor even return?

These questions played over and over in Achilles head, and it then dawned on him that the last question was one that Achilles was especially concerned with. He had to face facts, Chenoa may very well have been lost to him, he understood that and tried to accept it. But Connor. There had been arguments between the two and it was no secret that Achilles had been hard on Connor, he had tried to drive him from the manor when they had first met. Yet, gradually, Connor had grown to respect Achilles and Achilles grew to admire Connor's strength and perseverance. It had been a long and unsteady road, and yet Achilles kept many secrets from Connor, until recently he had thought that he may take them to his grave.

What did Connor think of him now? When he had told Connor to take another name he felt a great swelling of pride when Connor accepted the name of Achilles late son, and indeed Connor felt like his son. Achilles would not speak of it because it caused him pain, yet he loved Connor like a son. Now with Achilles failures and faults laid bare for all to see, would Connor return?

Achilles sought refuge in the training room beneath the houses foundations, the cold draft feeling natural to him, he sat down and rested upon his cane. Some day the damn thing was bound to snap from the great weight Achilles trusted to it. The house had been still before and felt lifeless now it felt as though it were a grave, no life within it. Life did not belong in it. This was the coffin that Achilles would lay in until the reaper himself came to visit him.

"This Brotherhood stole my family from me." Achilles did not hear the door open, did not feel the draft of air rush down from the top of the stairs. Achilles held his breath and hoped that it had not been an illusion or a dream, "This Brotherhood abandoned me." that the voice belong to Chenoa was certainly her and not an untrue manifestation of hope. "I heard her cries," He listened to her soft steps as they slowly drifted closer "I smelled her blood," Closer still "I had to burn her to begin a new life." He could feel s presence behind him but he did not dare turn to face her, how could he? "I never knew what became of my father." The presence was now standing before Achilles looking down upon him, his head still hung in shame. "Look at me." He did not want to, afraid to see the pain on her face, afraid to face her tears and try to justify his mistakes, yet he could not deny her, slowly Achilles glanced up. "You owe me a debt." Chenoa paused, "You owe me a family."

"I do." He replied, uncertain of how he could ever begin to make amends.

"By all means, I should have run out that door and never again look upon you, I should have burned this house down and visit my agonies upon you. But," Chenoa paused once more, tired of being angry "It does not bring back my mother, nor does it change what happened." Achilles opened his mouth to speak but Chenoa cut him off "I only want you to listen now," He closed his mouth and nodded "I have spent many nights laying awake and wondering. Thousands of questions and thoughts robbing me of my sleep, beginning a new life did not silence them. I have been alone all of my life, and if there is a God, he did never answer my prayers until now. When the British took me prisoner I longed for death, I was afraid, yet I still wanted them to kill me. To put my soul at peace, that I may see them all again. I had let go of all hope and I waited. It was only when I had given up that he came. Connor."

Achilles brow quirked quizzically, he had not known of Connor's involvement in finding and saving Chenoa. He felt proud of him and waited for Chenoa to continue.

"He found me and he saved me, in every way that a person can be saved. When we parted I never thought that I would see him again, yet he found me, again and again. And even now he has delivered me to this place, this place that has haunted my waking dreams, this place where I was born." Chenoa touched the heavy wooden beams along the wall as though they could speak to her. "It is only because of him that I am here. So if you give thanks to anyone, give it to him."

"Connor," Achilles felt something deep in his chest, he wanted to cry out and embrace Chenoa as a lost child, and Connor as a proud father. "Connor found you?"

"He did. And he made me realize something," Chenoa looked at the robes on the walls "He made me realize that opportunities like this do not come from nothing, they happen for a reason. And the truth is that I would be remiss if I ignored this chance. I have spent my life in sadness and I am tired. I am so tired of being tired and I will abide by it no more." She now faced Achilles "You owe me a debt, but before I can claim it we have work to do."

"Work?" Chenoa strode to the wall that contained portraits of the Templars, large white 'x's over the portraits of the men that Connor had eliminated.

"I need to find him," She pointed to the portrait of Charles Lee

"Why do you seek Charles Lee?" Connors voice now joined the Conversation as he stepped down looking at the portrait himself.

"The British Dragoons that were searching for me traveled with this man, he said I was a dangerous war criminal that had to be apprehended. I need to know why."

"Why would Charles Lee be looking for you?" Achilles questioned

"I do not know, I am of no consequence, or so I believed. But he was prepared to kill many men to do so, which makes me believe that there is something else at work here." Chenoa stared intently at the portrait and looked deeply the man within. He looked as though his words were poisonous, he has dark eyes but they weren't anything like Connors. His eyes were like black holes that lead to Hell itself, this man had done terrible things of that Chenoa was certain. "I believe that they may be still searching for me."

"Charles Lee is Haytham Kenway's right hand man, why he would take interest in you is a puzzlement." Achilles said as he stepped forward now, trying to see in Chenoa what Lee was searching for "It is unlikely but perhaps he knows who you were," Achilles asked a question that he swore he would never ask but circumstances dictated the need to know "Chenoa, what happened to your father?"

"He had let us for a medical emergency, he said he would return in a fortnight. I do not know if he ever did,"

"A possible loose end?" Connor posed, Achilles nodded.

"Well if you too, seek Lee then we must begin working as quickly as we can, there is much to teach you." Achilles replied looking at the pair of them, side by side. "And I believe that Miriam and Norris would take it as a great unkindness if you left before Friday."

Chenoa looked on in puzzlement, "Friday?" A look of astonishment cast itself over Connor's face as he realized what Achilles was talking about.

"Their wedding!" Connor clamped a hand over his forehead, how could he have forgotten, "I must speak with Father Timothy,"

"Ah, yes, Connor, you have a role in this don't you?" Chenoa looked to Connor now, "Miriam and Norris are dear friends of Connors and it is only because of him that they are to be wed, Miriam has asked that Connor be the one to give her away."

"Is that not something that is reserved for her father?"

"It normally is, but Miriam does not know her father. She asked that Connor do this, since it was he who was responsible for her attachment to Norris in the first place." For the first time since coming to the Davenport Manor Chenoa smiled in ernest, and she considered it. A wedding seemed so out of place considering the events of the last twenty four hours, Chenoa had always been told that if there was light within the darkness then let that light shine. This wedding, close friends of Connor by the sound of it deserved its moment. Achilles was right, there would no doubt be a long road to finding out the answers that Chenoa was seeking, and truth be told, it could wait a little bit longer.

"I see, then their wedding must be attended to first," Chenoa said firmly.

"I must go speak with Father TImothy and Norris and Miriam, I will return shortly." Connor nodded to Achilles and Chenoa then ascended the steps quickly and was gone.

"Achilles," Chenoa called "What would you have me learn?"

OOO

Did Connor forget about Norris and Miriam's wedding?! … Oops. Um, well. Seems Chenoa and Achilles have a few things to talk about don't they? Also, I know it seems like I left out a chunk between Connor and Chenoa back there in the woods, I didn't! Just stay with me! Its all part of the plan…! Read and review!


	26. Twice

Shiver

The Great Wicked

Thanks everyone! I love getting messages and reviews and thanks to you all my awesome minions, (as I like to think of you) my story is now up to 74 reviews, 37 favorites, 56 followers! You guys are just amazing! So thanks again!

The story might seem like its slowing down a little bit but I'm trying to write carefully as the next leg of the story is one of those bits that is so easy to write badly and I want to do a good job on it so bear with me! I was also chatting with a friend and she asked me if I had any art on Chenoa, sadly I'm not very artistically inclined and so there is none. However I would love to see Chenoa brought to life in the form of someone's art, I'm pretty poor so a commission isn't really a possibility. But if you guys know anyone who feels like taking up the challenge then I'd love to see it!

OOO

Achilles lead Chenoa upstairs in the wee hours of the morning to an empty room to call her own. It was as sparsely decorated as the room that she had occupied when she had stayed with Sarah, though this time she was no prisoner. There were no suspicions of her character and it was with these thoughts and the events of the last several days that allowed Chenoa to fall into a deep sleep and for the first time in many years she slept well.

No dreams, no nightmares, no sadness, just rest. She slept the sleep of the dead and it was not until just before sunset the next day that Chenoa stirred and awoke from her sleep. The room was still as empty but it now held a few more comforts that had no doubt been brought in while she slept. On a chair next to the stone fireplace were fresh linens, next to it a heavy wooden basin filled with hot water, and a several wooden panels to serve as a changing screen. When had those been brought in?

The door opened softly and the soft rustle of skirts drew Chenoa's attention to this individual, it was not Connor nor Achilles nor was it Grandfather, but a woman. A pleasant lady with blonde hair the color of the sun at noon, she had a kind smile and held more linens in her arms.

"Oh, you're awake miss. They said you were restless but I thought you might sleep clear through tomorrow. Are you rested enough?" The sheet that Chenoa had initially clutched to her chest had dropped a little as this woman radiated a kindness that Chenoa knew so well of another good woman. "Did you rest well? I heard you were very tired from your journey."

"I am, thank you." The woman shut the door and drew the curtains by the window before lighting a lamp to cast light into the encroaching darkness. "Who are you?"

"Oh, my name's Martha. Come now miss, I'm sure its been long since you've had a hot bath, hasn't it?" At this prospect Chenoa's spirits were very lifted, and she quickly leapt from the beds warmth and she began to loosen the leather cords and strands of her clothes. "I've got some fresh clothes for you to wear in the meantime, and if you like I can have these washed and dried by morning, ma'am."

"That is very kind, thank you." Martha ushered Chenoa behind the screen, shedding the rest of her clothes. Martha was kind enough to turn away as Chenoa slipped into the hot water, such modesty among strangers was not uncalled for.

"There now, thats better isn't it?" Chenoa leaned back in the water letting the heat wash over her tired bones, and she nodded gratefully. "When Achilles told me you was here, I must admit I was a little shocked, he doesn't take to visitors very well. He turned Connor away from his house when Connor first arrived here. You must be really special to him, he doesn't like visitors."

"He turned Connor away?"

"Aye. The poor lad spent his first few nights out here in the stables until Achilles agreed to train him. Buts its all well, Connor is a good man, and he's made Achilles a little more social." Martha just had a wonderfully sunny disposition, she didn't make Chenoa uncomfortable and she didn't pose questions. Chenoa couldn't help but think of her friendship with Sarah, the months that she had stayed with her, although she often preferred to be alone she remembered how nice it was to have the companionship of another woman. She didn't mind Martha's idle chatter or the way her voice occasionally reminded her of the sounds that an excited chipmunk made.

"Why did Connor seek out Achilles?" Connor was akin to a puzzle in Chenoa's eyes, every now and again a piece would present itself yet each time she had a moment to glance at the whole puzzle forgetting the intricate pieces that comprised of him.

"Oh, well," Martha paused to consider Chenoa's question "I've never outright asked him, but every now and again one of them mentions a little bit. But from what I've heard, Connor had some sort of spiritual awakening in his village and someone told him to seek out Achilles to train him. I've often wondered about myself, but it just never seemed proper to ask. I'm already at odds with that myself." Chenoa glanced in Martha's direction in confusion, "I'm common and I talk too much. I've more then once placed my nose where it doesn't belong. Cost me jobs and work in the past."

"An inquisitive nature," Chenoa responded understanding what she meant perfectly, "It is nothing to be ashamed of."

"Well, I must say, I can see why Connor is so taken with you, you say such kind things!" Chenoa's ears perked up a little bit with the latest bit of information. She hadn't thought of the moment between them in the woods since it had happened. It seemed like it hadn't truly happened, as though it too were a dream. Chenoa's silence drew Martha's attention, "Didn't you know miss?" Still silence but this time accompanied by a shy glance out of the corner of her eye, she shook her head and subtly shrugged as though confused about what she felt. "Well, I'm no psychic and I don't hear him say much but I do see how he's been since he met you. Months ago, something in him changed."

"What?"

"Hard to say, he would look out at nothing, you cold tell something was on his mind. But now that I've met you miss and heard what Achilles has said about you, I do think its you thats been on his mind." Martha kneeled next to the basin as though she were about relay some great secret. "He's very worried about you miss, he waited outside your door for most of the night. Didn't sit still much either. I'd say, he's very taken with you." Chenoa felt a warm blush creep upon her cheeks, "Ah, seems you're a bit taken with him as well."

"Oh! You must not-!"

"Don't worry miss, I won't say anything." Chenoa breathed a sigh of relief then slid a little deeper into the water. "Well, I'll leave you for a while, and I'll go clean these." Martha gestured to Chenoa's clothes and gave her a reassuring smile then she turned and left.

Chenoa took deep breath and submerged herself in the water, holding her breath as long as she could stand. Maybe a minute and a half or so. For a few moments there was nothing, only the sound of water dripping from her chin.

There was no denying the electricity that sparked between her and Connor, after their fall. On the ground in the heap of branches, she could still remember his scent, warm and earthy, the smell of leather and a thousand nights spent under the stars. The goosebumps that riddled her skin when he had kissed her, he wasn't as rough or harsh as she had first thought, instead he had been serene and passionate. The feeling of his hands tangled in her hair and the way he protected her when Enhita and his mate had come into the clearing. His grip had been like iron, but he didn't crush her, he seemed to always be mindful of where she was.

Her tongue darted out to wet her lips and she tried to remember what it was that he tasted like, something… different. Oddly enough, she the only thing she could think of was sun sweetened berries, tart at first then sweet. The taste was gone, and she found that as she thought of it, thought of him, she missed his taste.

"Ratonhnhaké:ton…" She wasn't sure why she said his name, maybe saying it would help her remember more about that kiss. "Ratonhnhaké:ton." She said it a little louder this time, she didn't remember anything but she did hear something; a startled thump outside her door, accompanied by clumsy stumbling. Chenoa briefly chuckled having a very good idea as to who it was that stood outside her door.

OOO

"It seems that we have some things to discuss as well, Old Man." Connor now returned to the cellar after he had seen Chenoa fall into a deep sleep, he had long desired a private conversation with Achilles. The old man was only getting older, he didn't even hear Connor descend the stairs, until he heard him speak. Achilles didn't bother turning, the student was quickly becoming a master.

"Connor, did you speak with Father Timothy?"

"I spoke with him several days ago,"

"Ah, so where did you go?" Achilles asked as he stood and turned to face Connor, there was no anger on his face. He was unreadable, there was a time when Achilles could read his student like the pages of an open book, but now he could make out nothing of Connor's thoughts. Connor gave him no answer, save for a deep and penetrating gaze, Achilles could see his eyes swirling with many questions and there was no running from them, he nodded. "I see,"

"I will not be turned away this time, Old man." Connor's voice was now as strong as his iron will. Achilles looked at the ground and was quiet for a moment, he had many things that he knew Connor would have to hear, Grandfather had made a valid point. If Connor was to carry on the brotherhood of the assassin order then he would need to know all things. "I will have answers from you, now."

"Connor, when you came to me those years ago asking me to train you, I turned you away."

"Several times." Connor added, perhaps just a little bit bitter.

"I turned you away for a reason, Connor."

"Because I was a youth." Connor prompted to finish for him.

"No, that was not the reason." Several long silent minutes passed before Achilles spoke again. "Connor, I know you have many questions for me regarding my absence with Chenoa's family and the wrong-doings I have committed." Connor nodded. "But, it is no simple story. There are many twists and turns, many lies told, and it is not a story that I can tell right now."

"I will not leave, without your answers, Achilles." He paused "I have earned this."

"You have, Connor. You have indeed and I will not deny you answers, but I must ask you to wait, just a while longer." Connor's brow furrowed in anger and frustration, "You will know all things soon, Connor. But now I must ask you to do something for me, give me a little more time, so that I may compose all you will need to know. In the meantime, Chenoa's heart needs mending and I ask you now, not as a master asking a student but as one assassin to another."

Connor was about to fire off another angered statement but he thought better of it, Achilles had had his shortcomings sure enough, but if Achilles had ever given his word to Connor, he always kept it. Connor nodded, in agreement. "I will return Achilles, then you will answer me."

"Connor, I give you my word. For now, we have work to do. She needs you." With that Achilles clambered up the steps and was gone, off to where Connor didn't know but his words certainly gave Connor something else to think about. Chenoa. With that he ascended the stairs.

Whatever thoughts of lingering anger Connor felt quickly melted away when he found himself standing outside Chenoa's door. Wondering if he should say something, he hadn't spoken with her since their conversation in the cellar. He wasn't certain is she was still asleep or not, Martha had wandered into the hall from up the stairs, she cast a smile at Connor that colored his cheeks slightly, he was grateful that it was dim, she quickly turned and headed back downstairs.

Connor looked back to the door and raised his fist to knock, but he did not. He lowered his fist and wetted his lips as though he were to call out for her, but no words fell from his lips, he raised his fist once more but again he did not knock. He rested both his arms on the frame of the door, struggling for what he should do next.

In wrestling with his thoughts Connor kept coming back to what had happened with Chenoa in the clearing, in the night. Feeling her weight upon him, her body melded against his, how she fit against him, in his arms. There were three moments since his initial pursuit of the medicine woman he knew as Chenoa, that had always left him besotted and mystified.

First the cavern. Once he had secured the area and the fire had begun to warm him, his thoughts dissipated from survival to her. It was certainly not the first time Connor had ever seen a naked woman, it shouldn't have bothered him. In the summer heat it wasn't uncommon for men and women of his tribe to shed most of their clothes, yet this was different. Was it because she was near death? Or was it that there had been no training to prepare him for this. Most certainly it was largely due to his nearly instant attraction to her, even when her clothes and hands were stained in blood and earth, her hair matted and tangled, and her body beaten and bruised, he had seen something in her. He looked at her and saw part of himself.

It was hard to ignore the sounds of her breathing against him, the firelight as it danced on her skin, the length and softness of her legs, the burning within his chest, her limp form held against him. More then once he had glanced down at her face to see if she had awoken and always his eyes would linger on her lips, they had been nearly blue. But as the hours went on their rosy color gradually returned.

Having had kissed her now, he briefly wondered if he could have warmed those lips better with his own. No. Somehow it seemed wrong to think of her like that. Was it?

Second, their meeting by the small pond after she had fled the village. She had managed to spot him in his hiding place on that church, with her health largely returned he had seen a different woman now. A cunning little fox. Yet for a time he did not want to move, something about watching her work entranced him, there was a grace and fluidity about her movements, and the authority that she commanded in the simplest actions.

He was relived beyond words to hear her speak when she finally did, and to see those green eyes filled with strength and life he felt as though he had truly succeeded in saving her. Then their conversation by the water. She said little but conveyed much, and there was something very pleasant about her lips when she spoke. Once more it was hard to take his eyes off of them. Connor had known it then but refused to act on it, part of him wanted to grab her and pull her close to make certain that she was in fact really there. Somehow he had remained composed, even if he stumbled all over his words, hanging onto that thin shred of decorum. He swallowed so hard and prayed that he would not fall apart when she reached into his hood, secretly loving the way her fingernails grazed his scalp when pushing his hood back. Not normally wanting to be seen or to have his hood down, Connor found that he didn't mind it so much, as long as it was her that was looking into him. He nearly lost himself when she stood up and planted those soft lips on his scar, it felt as though a butterfly had brushed against his skin.

Thirdly, their moment in the branches in the woods, the other night. The buildup from the moment he had laid eyes on her to the moment their lips finally met was as powerful a feeling as he'd ever felt. There had been nothing to compare it to, the rush and exhilaration pushing the two of them mover the ledge. Yet he still had enough of his wits about him to rotate them so that it was she who landed on him, not wanting to crush her. For a moment he was certain that he'd be slapped in the face but when she kissed him the thought was gone and replaced by the same burning feeling in his chest that he felt that night in the cavern.

The softness of her lips against his provoked a hunger that he had barely known, the desire to take her in his arms and never let go. To claim her lips time and time again and never tire of it. To have her beneath him looking up in longing and desire. Feeling the fire burn higher and harder when he had felt the blissful warmth of her tongue against his lower lip, the shock at this coy creature that lay on him. To look into her eyes and see the same things he thought and felt reflected in them.

Connor was so lost in these three thoughts that he felt he nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard his name being called from the other side of the door. It had been so soft the first time that he barely heard it, then a second time. Had she moaned slightly? He began to tremble all over thinking about it, then enjoying the shudders that wracked his spine, she had said his name. Twice. Did she moan?

The sound of water sloshing pulled him from the trance and back to the door, he then heard footsteps, uncertain of what to say Connor turned and headed back down the stairs.

OOO

Wow, that was a bit of a long one! Hope you guys like it! Read and review! Especially review, even if its only a few words your reviews make my day!


	27. The Wedding

Shiver

The Great Wicked

Father Timothy had said to Connor weeks ago that colonial weddings were complex beasts that required many hands working together to execute, complex they were. It seemed that anything that could have gone wrong did: One of the rings was lost, the blacksmith feeling horrid that such a travesty had occurred when the rings were in his possession. Myriam's dress had ripped in several places and seemed to attract all manner of dirt and muck, and the poor girl was acting strange. Not saying very much and preferring to spend most of her time alone, in fact she took to disappearing quite often, much to Norris's chagrin. Norris himself, was a wreck. Going into panic attacks due to every little hiccup in the road, not worried for his own sake but for Myriam's. Not wanting anything to go wrong on their special day, it was in truth about the two of them starting a life together but everyone knew that everyone was focused on the bride. Connor did all that he could to help put Norris to ease and spent most of his time running around like a chicken with its head cut off. The imagery was quite silly, an assassin in his robes and finery running around seeing to things like flowers and gathering things at Myriam's request and helping Norris to keep his calm.

As Connor helped track down the rogue wedding ring, which oddly enough was found in a pot in the kitchen, he was overcome with a strange feeling of familiarity and calm. That no matter your culture, your language, no matter the color of your skin it seemed that all weddings were very much the same. Chaos in the air, many things going wrong and adjustments needing to be made, pre-wedding 'jitters' as Big Dave called them, and constant scrambling.

He was reminded of wedding customs in his village the couple to be once their intentions were announce they would meet with the Council of Chiefs and a date was set. Once Myriam had said yes to Norris the two met with Father Timothy and preparations began. Just as the whole community in his village was invited, the entire homestead was expected to attend, no invitations just word of mouth.

Their clothes were certainly different, Myriam had asked Connor opinion of her dress, it was a far cry from what women in his village wore, but beautiful. Simple for Myriam, elegant, he had seen Norris's clothes as well, all simple but not to say that they were normal clothes. They wore their best, and for two people as Norris and Myriam, simple suited them both. She had looked a little uncomfortable in the dress but it was impossible to deny how lovely she looked, even if she was nervous.

Ellen had made quick work of the few rips in the dress, sewing them up right quick, as though they had never been there. She looked at Myriam with the dress on, gesturing to the mirror.

"See yourself, Myriam! You look lovely!" Ellen was truly talented with the needle, the dress fit her perfectly, yet Myriam found it hard to meet her reflections judging gaze.

"I wish I could wear my trousers and boots, I feel like a sheep on its hind legs." She said catching a glance at herself, not trying to insult Ellen's work, "I mean, I just feel…"

"Beautiful is what you should feel!" Ellen turned her to the mirror and lifted her chin, but something was missing, there was a gentle knock on the door and Connor stepped inside dressed in his robes now blessedly clean thanks to Martha. He stopped and stared at Myriam, truly shocked. Myriam was an attractive woman certainly yet she had a rugged exterior it was so different to see her so polished and clean. "Ah! Another opinion," Ellen lead Connor in by the arm "Connor, will you tell her how lovely she is?"

Myriam could not meet Connor's gaze, she looked bashfully to the floor. Connor took a step towards her seeing her properly. "Norris is a very luck man, he is the to whom congratulations are due. You look beautiful." Myriam felt a blush creeping upon her, clearly not used to so much attention being lavished to her. Here and now seeing his close friend the scrambling was worth it, and he was proud to be a part of it.

"Something is still missing though…" Ellen said looking at Myriam in a scrutinizing manner, "Don't you think, Connor?" Connor snapped his fingers and walked outside and was gone for a few moments, leaving a very confused Ellen and Myriam. He was gone maybe ten minutes before he walked back in holding something in his hands, he placed it upon Myriam's head, it was a crown of several wild flowers neatly woven together. Wildflowers for a wild flower. "Oh! Thats perfect!" Ellen turned Myriam to the mirror "Connor, thats exactly it!"

Myriam touched the flowers on her head feeling the weave with her fingertips not wanting to take it off, something so pretty, so delicate. "You made this?" she asked a little shocked.

"I made them as a child, for my mother." The room went quiet with this strangely intimate piece of information. Everyone knew Connor's mother had died when he was young but he never spoke of it. It was a touching gesture. "Well, I should see Norris. There are still a few things to do before the ceremony." Connor gave Myriam a smile and turned to leave.

"There," Ellen cooed lifting Myriam's chin "You're ready to become a wife." Myriam gave an uneasy smile and looked at the mirror once more now seeing something entirely different. Something that she had never seen before, something different and scary.

OOO

The morning had been full of surprises, Chenoa had seen so little of Connor in the last few days, she did not begrudge him at all. She had seen some of the clothes that the women wore, women like herself, colonials as she had once been, yet as she thought of the only clothes she had she felt uneasy. Her clothes were so old and so worn. Yet as the sun rose and she awoke, there was a neatly tied parcel on the chair near her bed that had not been there the night before.

Once unwrapped the parcel held a surprise, new clothes, it was a simple buckskin dress with fringe at the elbow length sleeves and the bottom of the dress. Lightly tanned with ornate designs about the waist near the base above the fringe. Chenoa had seen clothes like these worn to special occasions when there was cause to celebrate, as a child but it was not common clothes for a medicine woman to wear especially when she traveled. It may have been simple clothes but considering that Chenoa basically wore the same clothes day after day it was a breath of fresh air. There was also a new pair of knee length boots and several pieces of beaded jewelry for her to wear, a gift like this could only have come from one man.

"Oh! Miss Chenoa, you're awake!" Martha had entered the room her words forgotten once she had seen the clothes that Chenoa was holding up and looking at. "So thats what he left." Chenoa tore her eyes away from the clothes to Martha, acknowledging her presence. "Is he your grandfather?"

Chenoa had never really spoken with Grandfather since their unpleasant confrontation, in fact she hadn't even seen him. She suddenly felt a little guilty for speaking so harshly to him, "Yes, he is."

"Its so lovely," Martha reached out to touch the surprisingly soft leather, "Well now, there's not much time! You get changed miss and I'll bring up some breakfast for you. The wedding is in a few hours and we have to get you ready."

Chenoa smiled as Martha quickly left the room and Chenoa looked once more at the new clothes. A loving gift.

OOO

"Connor," Norris was waiting in the foyer of the Davenport Manor as Connor entered hoping for a moment to check on Chenoa, he was surprised to see Norris looking quite distressed.

"Everything seems to be in order for the big day!" He said hoping to ease Norris's distress, slapping him on the arm.

"It is. Except I can't find Myriam." Oh.

Connor knew that sometimes women grew skittish before they wed, perhaps Myriam was feeling the same thing. But rather then to worry his friend, Connor put a positive spin on the event. "I am certain she is making sure all is perfect. I will find her my friend." He pulled it off convincingly enough he hoped, Norris nodded and sighed in relief then left the mansion.

Once Norris was out of sight Connor began to look around, in one of the rooms he found Myriam's bouquet of flowers on the ground, some of the petals fallen. The flowers looked as though someone had grasped them firmly and strangled them. In a corner near a table, her hand mirror sat on the floor shattered.

Broken pieces of glass scattered, the handle still warm, wherever she was she hadn't disappeared too long ago. Looking across the room the door to the balcony was flung open a breeze ushering him through it, his concern growing a little deeper. From the balcony he leapt into a nearby tree and ran along its branches, skirting its circumference and swinging on boughs. He covered more ground and had a better view, he hadn't one more then maybe two hundred yards when he grabbed an accommodating branch and caught sight of white fabric.

On a platform that Myriam frequented for hunting, there she was. Still in her wedding dress, but a very different woman.

"Leave me be!" She called as she jumped down and broke into a run.

Connor was beyond bewildered but rather then stand still and feel stupid he gave chase, feeling as though if he did not then he would not see her again. "Why do you run?"

"Leave me be! I'm no house wife!" She called back as she continued to put distance between her and Connor. He moved quickly swinging effortlessly on the branches and covering ground on terrain that he knew so well. Myriam may have had a head start on him but Connor was faster and had the advantage of not being held back by a wedding dress.

"Nobody thinks you are one!" He called to her trying to gain insight to her behavior, what had caused her to become so frantic and angry?

"Thats what all this means!" Myriam stumbled a moment and caught her breath, not caring that she was standing in the midst of a cold stream. How did this get so complicated? She seemed as though she wasn't even certain herself, Connor scaled a fallen tree and caught his own breath as he didn't expect to have to chase anyone and free-running was difficult when you were trying to avoid dirtying your clothes. Connor said nothing for a moment, uncertain of what to say, not wanting to frighten her off. "What if it goes the way everything has?"

"If what goes what way?"

"What if he leaves? Just like the rest of them!" She cried in frustration giving Connor a better idea of what was truly troubling her. "Everyone leaves."

Connor slowly approached Myriam but remained at arms distance. "Why would Norris spend months trying to win your affections if he intended to leave you?"

"I don't know but thats what people do!"

"Myriam, what is it that troubles you so? Today should be a happy occasion." Myriam's shoulders slumped and she felt tears burning her eyes.

"Happiness doesn't last forever and anyone who thinks that it does is a fool!" Connor was truly speechless for a moment, what had happened to Myriam just now? Sensing the harshness of her words she glanced back at Connor in shame and embarrassment. "Connor, I've been alone most of my life. Its always just been me, and if I marry Norris today then and he grows unhappy, what's to stop Norris from leaving too?"

"Norris cares very much for you Myriam, do not run from it. Why would you desire to be alone?"

"Sometimes it better to be alone," Connor couldn't wrap his head around the notion and was silent, waiting for Myriam to say what it truly was that worried her. "Nobody can hurt you."

Connor took a cautious step forward to his friend, "Myriam," he placed a hand on her shoulder "Norris would never hurt you, and I would never allow harm to come to you." Myriam sniffled softly and rubbed her face frantically with her sleeve, trying to hide her tears. "Myriam, he loves you. Do not fear this new part of your life." She turned to finally face him eyes a little red but with the tiniest smile visible. Connor held out his hand to her "Norris is waiting for you," Myriam suddenly felt very childish and rather then take his hand she threw her arms around his neck and hugged him, the motion threw Connor off for a moment but he gradually hugged her back.

Myriam never talked about her family to anyone, neither did Connor, he often envied people who had brothers and sisters. Myriam was certainly like a little sister to him, he loved her and felt concern for her as a brother would. He never knew what it was to have brothers and sisters, but knew that you protect your family and the ones you love. Myriam looked up to him and offered a very real smile.

OOO

"Ready?" Connor asked as Myriam took his arm outside the church, she smiled and nodded and the pair walked inside. A soft violin was playing and their friends and family had gathered, nearly filling the church. Connor was so honored to have been asked to be a part of the ceremony and he walked with her head held high in pride as they drew closer to a very relived looking Norris, now notably cleaned up and dressed in his best.

Connor glanced about the room and took note of just how many people where there and he thought of what it was to be a family. As Myriam had been worried about being left alone, in this company he knew that such a thing was never possible. In a sense, he now had the family that he had always wanted, Achilles akin to his father, Martha like an older sister as no one could replace his own mother. His friends smiling happily at the rare celebration, a particular face near the front caught his gaze, Chenoa.

He let his eyes linger on her for just a moment before snapping is head back to Norris, with a smile to the both of them he handed Myriam to Norris. Clasping their hands together, the fear was now gone, happiness now in her eyes. Stepping backwards now he took his place near Achilles, as the ceremony began.

OOO

The wedding! Yay for weddings! Hope you all liked it, I decided to focus on the pre-wedding-ness and put my own spin on a few things. Especially with Myriam running off as its never really explained in the game, we get a hint of it based on her conversation as she flees from Connor, but thats my own spin. Next up the reception! Read and review, also if you've got the time check out my other story For Blood The for Love, a Malik/OFC. Thanks everyone!


	28. Important Authors Note! Really!

Authors note

Hey everyone! I want to thank all of you who have read, reviewed, favorited or followed me and my stories! I've been really busy lately moving from Japan back to the states and I'm happy to say that I am home! We've got our house and slowly things are falling into place! I have NO intention of stopping the story at all, but since this break I've re-read some of my work and decided that there are things that need fixing and so I'm doing an overhaul of all the posted chapters. Cleaning them up and over all going for a more polished look, I'm changing a few things here and there, nothing major don't worry. I'm currently working on the seventh chapter and I have to say that I think you guys will like what I'm working on, I won't start replacing the chapters until I'm caught up with what I've posted and I'll let you all know when I do. So thanks again once more guys, you're all amazing and I'm honored that you've all read my work and want it to continue.

I'm going through these chapters pretty quickly as I don't have a job right now so hopefully this will be done before you know it! This is a great time to send me a message or a review of things i've missed or could do better, seriously! Don't hold back guys! Let me know what you all think! Thanks again, and take care my readers!

Stay Wicked


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